


Under the Same Sky

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Collars, Dogs, First Time Bottoming, H/D Pet Fair 2016, Hand Jobs, Internalised Kink Shame, Light Bondage, M/M, Ministry of Magic Ball, Non-Sexual Kink, Non-Sexual Submission, Post-Hogwarts, Puppy Play, Romance, Slow Burn, Sub Harry Potter, Switching, Top Draco Malfoy, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-16 08:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8095264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: “It wasn’t…”  Malfoy stops and there’s something tentative in his voice, the hint of an apology in his words.  “It was never about you, Potter.” With memories of the war still fresh on his mind and Malfoy back in London, Harry's past refuses to stay buried.  As Harry tries to grapple with life and love, Malfoy seems determined to make him confront his deepest desires and Harry has to try not to lose his heart all over again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt left by the lovely Birdsofshore. Thanks to the people who helped cheer me along and in particular to Amorette for beta reading and providing lots of encouragement to get me over the finish line. Please note that the Puppy Play in this fic is entirely **non-sexual**. The quote at the start is from _Kiss the Rain_ by Billie Myers and the quote at the end is from _Come What May_ by David Baerwald and Kevin Gilbert.
> 
> For [Prompt #151](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Td1Xj4ZNIqFDdQLtMpkOWEqn2hI5TEx8tEtrEU1u1U8/edit).

  
*

_We're under the same sky and the night's as empty for me as for you.  
If you feel you can't wait till morning, kiss the rain...and wait for the dawn_

*

“You’ll never guess who’s back.” Harry slides into his seat opposite Ron and takes a grateful sip of his pint. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Ron’s smile fades and he pulls a face. “I can, actually. Hermione told me Malfoy turned up at the Ministry today. He wanted to talk to her about the Bonding Equality Ball. Apparently he wants to make a _donation_.”

“He does?” Harry’s mouth drops open and he stares at Ron. “Why?”

Ron raises his eyebrows at Harry. “Why d’you think, mate?”

Harry takes another swig of his pint, a longer one this time. He’s suddenly in need of a bit more booze to steady his nerves. “I thought he was supposed to get married to one of the Greengass sisters. Last I heard they’d bought a swanky place up North and _Magical Interiors_ was going to do an issue on Malfoy’s poncy coffee tables and stupidly expensive sofas.”

“Not anymore.” Ron shrugs and leans forward. “It all fell apart months ago. Malfoy’s out and proud these days. He’s setting up a foundation, apparently. Didn’t you know?”

Harry shakes his head, swallowing hard. There’s something about the news that makes his mouth dry and his heartbeat quicken. “Nope. Not a clue. I’m obviously not reading the right papers.”

“Or I’m reading the wrong ones.” Ron looks up, an expression of displeasure crossing his face. “Oh, bloody hell. Speak of the devil.”

Harry twists in his seat as the chatter in the bar lulls momentarily. Malfoy glances around the pub, distaste etched on his features. He’s just as sharp and angular as ever, his hair white-blond and carefully styled. He runs his hand along the lapel of his expensive-looking Muggle jacket as he peruses the room with an air of disdain. Harry can’t help but stare at the way Malfoy’s long fingers move along the material and heat coils in his stomach. He shifts when Malfoy’s eyes meet his – squirming slightly under the cool, grey stare.

“Potter.” Malfoy approaches their table and nods, once. “Weasley.”

“Alright, Malfoy?” Ron pulls a face at Harry when Malfoy looks away, although he keeps his tone neutral.

“As well as can be expected in this hovel.” Malfoy’s lips purse together and he checks his ostentatious watch, revealing his slim wrist and a flash of pale skin. 

Ron bristles because attacking the Leaky Cauldron is a personal insult as far as Ron’s concerned. “If it’s so crap, why are you here?”

If Ron’s words cause Malfoy any irritation he doesn’t show it. “Because I thought it might be the sort of place I’d find Potter.” He turns his gaze on Harry, his lips tilting upwards in a smug smile. “Cheap, poorly decorated and casual to the point of slovenly.”

Harry’s voice returns as the strange heat under his skin quickly becomes a familiar prickle of irritation. “Oh, give over.” Harry glances down at his ripped jeans and his well-washed Muggle t-shirt with _San Francisco_ emblazoned on the front and definitely doesn’t blush.

“Why? I was right, wasn’t I?” Malfoy looks far too pleased with himself, his eyes running over Harry in a way that’s more unsettling than it should be. He heaves an exaggerated sigh. “And I thought gay men were supposed to be stylish.” 

“Is that why you look like a Muggle waiter?” Harry retorts. Malfoy looks good, truth be told. The suit looks as if it’s been made for him and his shirt opens at the collar to reveal the slim lines of Malfoy’s throat. Harry wants to lick it. He clutches his lager tighter and keeps his lips pressed in a tight line to ensure he doesn’t say that out loud.

“This is bespoke Saville Row. Muggle _waiter_?” Malfoy’s brow furrows and he scowls at Harry.

Ron snorts and mutters something that sounds like _pretentious prat_ , glaring at Malfoy. “As fascinating as your wardrobe is, we’re actually having a private discussion. What do you want with Harry?”

Malfoy ignores Ron and turns to Harry. “Granger said I should speak to you about this Ministry bash. I want to buy a table.”

“Of course you do.” Harry exchanges a glance with Ron, who’s gone a bit red in the face which is a sure sign he’s contemplating punching Malfoy in the nose. “You’d better sit down, then.”

Malfoy shoots Ron a victorious look and slides in next to Harry. The faint scent of crisp cologne assaults Harry’s senses and he tries not to shift again when Malfoy’s arm brushes against his own. The proximity is far more uncomfortable than it should be and Harry mentally curses his traitorous body for reacting as it does to the warmth of Malfoy’s slim frame and the way his long fingers tap on the table. He definitely needs to have more sex. _Any_ sex. There’s no way he’s going to let Malfoy swagger back into his wanking fantasies with his expensive suit and stupid white hair. No way.

“I’m getting another drink,” Ron mutters. He rolls his eyes at Harry. “Harry?”

“Might as well.” Harry shrugs.

“I’ll have a dry white wine. Large.” Malfoy gives Ron a brief look and sniffs. “I suppose the house will do, I wouldn’t want to leave you out of pocket for the rest of the month.”

With a growl, Ron leaves the table and Harry resists the urge to throttle Malfoy.

“You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” Harry glares at Malfoy.

“I have actually.” Malfoy holds Harry’s gaze and for a moment his mask slips. He smiles and this time it’s a genuine smile with a hint of uncertainty. Vulnerability is the rarest kind of look on Malfoy. Harry’s only seen it a handful of time; during the war when Malfoy’s lips were kiss-bitten and his eyes wide as he watched Harry. He was also so good at putting up barriers. So good at hiding behind a mask of indifference and disdain. It hurts Harry’s heart just to see the way Malfoy looks at him now and he clears his throat when Malfoy’s slim fingers brush against his hand, where it rests on the table. 

“Yeah? Doesn’t seem much like it.”

Malfoy’s fingers slide over Harry’s skin again. “Well, I’m not pretending I don’t like snogging wizards anymore for a start.” 

“So I hear.” Harry stares at the table and the scratches etched into the wood. _Finnegan woz ‘ere’_ occupies a small space just to the left of Harry’s fingers, revealed when Malfoy slides his hand away. “That’s a change alright.”

“It wasn’t…” Malfoy stops and there’s something tentative in his voice, the hint of an apology in his words. “It was never about you, Potter.”

Harry swallows around the lump in his throat and he shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment. “We were just kids, Malfoy. I’m not still thinking about a couple of kisses round the back of a shit pub in Soho anymore.”

“Aren’t you?” Malfoy’s cool tone returns but the uncertainty remains.

“Are _you_?” Harry looks at Malfoy at last, the itch beneath his skin returning until he has to scratch at his hand. He catches Malfoy staring and he clenches his fingers together, suddenly feeling raw and exposed in a way he hasn’t in years. “Well?” He meets Malfoy’s gaze and they stare at one another as the silence stretches out between them.

“You’re obviously not as easy to forget as I am.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry stares at Malfoy, whose cheeks bloom pink. 

Malfoy examines his hand and lifts his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I’m sure you can work it out. I said a large white wine, Weasley. What the fuck is that?”

“Did you?” Ron takes his seat again, grinning at Malfoy. He winks at Harry and places an obnoxiously green cocktail in front of Malfoy. “I must have misheard. I thought you asked for a Slytherin Prat. It’s off menu. _Delicious_ , apparently.”

“You’re a tosser.” Malfoy pulls a face and sniffs at the drink before pushing it away, wrinkling his nose. “Give me some of that beer, Potter.”

With an apologetic look at Ron, Harry gives Malfoy the remainder of his first pint. “You can have this, or just go to the bar yourself. In fact, you can get the next round. You’ve got enough money to buy the whole pub a pint.”

“I’ll go in a minute.” Malfoy finishes the beer and glares at Ron through narrowed eyes. “I don’t know how you got Granger to marry you.”

Ron laughs and settles back in his seat with an easy smile. “No, mate. Me neither.”

The tension dissipates and Harry can’t help but smile at the surprise on Malfoy’s face. He nudges Malfoy with his shoulder and tips some of his drink into Malfoy’s empty glass.

“Alright then. About this ball…”

*

“Did you ever tell them about us?” Malfoy speaks quietly when Ron goes to say hello to Charlie who comes into the pub an hour or so later with a large group of friends.

“It wasn’t just my secret to tell.” Harry’s brow furrows and he stares at his hands. “I came out to them just before you left. They know there was someone, they just don’t know who. After you left, I just told them it was a Muggle and it wasn’t going to work out what with…”

“You being the wizarding world’s brightest hero,” Malfoy says, dryly.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Malfoy clears his throat. “Well, thanks. I suppose.”

“S’alright.” Harry takes a beer mat off the table and picks at it where the corners are damp and separating. “Besides, there wasn’t really much to tell. We bumped into each other once or twice.”

“A bit more than that,” Malfoy murmurs.

“I suppose. Still, it was just a few kisses.” Harry’s cheeks flame and he can’t meet Malfoy’s gaze head on because he knows it was more than that. He remembers the shudders of pleasure passing through his body when Malfoy’s lips connected with his own, surprisingly fierce and insistent. His head hurts and he rubs his hand to his forehead, fingers brushing over the light mark where his scar used to burn bright red and angry. The itch beneath his skin returns – the one that’s never quite satisfied by scratching.

“I imagine you’ve done a lot more than that, since.” Malfoy’s voice is clipped, his tone cool.

“Maybe.” Harry shrugs. It’s not an affirmation but it’s not a denial, either. It’s not any of Malfoy’s business what Harry’s done. “You too.”

“Perhaps.” Malfoy doesn’t elaborate either. When he speaks again he bows his head close to Harry, his breath warm and tickling Harry’s ear. “I looked into it, you know. That stuff you mentioned.”

Harry closes his eyes, an involuntary shiver passing through his body. When he forces out his words, his voice is rough. He’s larger than life, people always tell Harry that. He’s impulsive, confident and brave to the point of recklessness. He doesn’t recognise the voice Malfoy forces from him – quavering, jagged and unsteady. “Please don’t. I was young. Stupid. I didn’t know what I wanted.”

“Harry.” Malfoy’s voice is soft but there’s a hint of command and it makes Harry turn until he’s staring right at Malfoy. They’re so close he could inch just a bit closer to get rid of the distance between them. He can almost taste the sweet alcohol on Malfoy’s lips and feel the whispers of the past soft against his neck, ghosting over his skin. He blinks and nudges his glasses up his nose, taking in the way Malfoy’s eyes darken as he sweeps his gaze over the lines of Harry’s face. “I think you did. I think you knew exactly what you wanted.”

Harry swallows and he wants to fight back. He wants to make a joke or snap at Malfoy. Anything to stop Malfoy talking and watching him with that intense stare which makes Harry think of long-forgotten promises Malfoy couldn’t keep. His eyes close again and he breathes out, the exhale soft and ragged. The memory of the sensation of Malfoy’s fingers around his wrist makes his body heat. The slim, cool fingers against his own hot skin. The rough wall, scratching against his skin. Malfoy holding Harry’s hands firm against the mossy brick. The way his body would buck forwards seeking friction and Malfoy would just _know_.

_You like this don’t you, Potter? You like it when I take control?_

_Yes_. 

Harry had liked it. He’d liked it so, so much. 

“Don’t.” Harry opens his eyes and Malfoy’s still watching him. He looks so good. Mouth-watering. He’s got that look in his eyes that makes Harry want to kiss him and be hurt by him in equal measure. He used to think Malfoy was dangerous, which seems ridiculous now in some ways and startlingly accurate in others. Funny, how his stupid heart didn’t know the half of it. “You think now you’re back we’ll pick up where we left off, dancing to ABBA in a Muggle gay bar and getting off by rubbing against each other in the shadows? We’re not eighteen anymore.” He’s not going to give Malfoy the satisfaction of falling back into old patterns, no matter how much he might want to.

“No, I didn’t think we’d do that.” Malfoy rolls his eyes and the distance is back between them. He’s got a glass of wine now and his breath is sweet with it. “Do you ever watch the clouds, just to see what shape they make?”

“Can't say I do.” Harry narrows his eyes at Malfoy, trying to find an ulterior motive for the sudden shift in topic. “Do you?”

“Sometimes.” Malfoy shrugs and looks to the other side of the pub where Ron’s waving and calling Harry’s name. “Looks like you’re wanted.”

Harry waits for Malfoy to move then slips out of the seat, looking at him. “Coming?”

“I don’t think so.” Malfoy’s nose wrinkles as if the idea of an evening with drunk Weasleys is about as appealing as being asked to chop flobberworms. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah.” Harry rakes his hand through his head, shaking his head as he watches Malfoy. He still can’t believe he’s here. “See you around.”

When he looks back at their table it’s empty and the half-finished glass of white wine and discarded green cocktail is the only reminder that Malfoy was there at all.

*

When Harry next sees Malfoy, he’s sitting on a bench in the park near to Grimmauld Place with a ridiculous dog which looks not unlike Malfoy – perfectly groomed and bright white.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“Fancy.” Malfoy looks up and gives the dog’s lead a little yank when it starts sniffing and pawing at Harry. “I was in the area. I live off Eton Place.”

Harry looks past Malfoy to the posh square with its white terraced houses and balconies with perfectly tamed miniature trees protecting the privacy of the residents. It’s Muggle and it’s one of the most expensive areas in London. “Obviously. You’ve gone Muggle?”

Malfoy shrugs. “For the time being. I still have Malfoy Manor and a flat in Diagon Alley. This area suits me best for the time being.”

Harry gestures behind him. “Well, I’m just down the road.”

“I know.” Malfoy gives Harry a look. “I know where all the Black properties are located, funnily enough.”

Harry refuses to take the bait, responding with a nod. “Yeah. I imagine you do. Still, it doesn’t sound as though you’re in need of more properties.”

“I do okay.” Malfoy looks smug and he tugs the lead again when the dog begins to sniff at Harry. “Stop that.”

“It’s fine. Hello, gorgeous.” Harry crouches and scratches the dog behind the ears, laughing when it offers him a paw and lets out a _ruff_ of contentment. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t know you felt that way, Potter.” Malfoy sounds amused and when Harry looks up he’s smiling, his lips curved at the corner.

“Who’s this then?” Harry rolls his eyes at Malfoy’s comment and bends his face to the dog which licks his cheek. “Friendlier than your owner, aren’t you?”

“Depends who’s doing the stroking.” 

Harry snorts and meets Malfoy’s smirk with a grin. “Is that what you want? Someone to scratch you behind the ears?” The thought makes Harry’s skin warm and heat pools unexpectedly in his stomach. 

Malfoy studies Harry, a slow smile playing over his lips. “I thought that was more your thing.”

Harry swallows and stands, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looks into the distance at a family playing with a large blow-up ball and a couple with a dog bounding between them as they laugh together. His chest feels too tight and he takes a moment to steady his breathing, hoping Malfoy doesn’t notice his reaction.

“What’s his name?”

“It’s a her. Lady. Short for Lady Macbeth. Tragic, really.” Malfoy snorts at his own joke. “It’s a ridiculous name, but then she’s a ridiculous dog.”

“You named her.”

“Didn’t, actually.” Malfoy points a finger at Lady, his voice cross. “Sit.”

With a _ruff_ , Lady sits and looks at Malfoy, her head tilted to the side. The sight and Malfoy’s stern tone send another rush of heat through Harry’s body and he swallows thickly, wishing his skin didn’t get so hot and clammy around Malfoy.

“She’s not yours then?”

“Astoria’s looking for property in the South of France. I said I’d take her for a week or two.” Malfoy’s smile fades and he runs his long fingers through Lady’s tufts of hair, scratching lightly behind her ear and eliciting a soft whine of pleasure. “It’s the least I could do.”

“It’s really all over, then?” Harry tries not to find Malfoy and his blasted dog endearing. It’s so unlike Malfoy to show open affection for anything, Harry finds he can’t get enough of watching him interact with Lady.

As if on cue, Lady butts against Malfoy’s leg until Malfoy heaves a put upon sigh. He picks up the small dog, putting her on the bench where she curls up with a paw on Malfoy’s lap and a happy _yip_. There’s something about the sight that makes Harry want to curl up next to Malfoy and feel those long, sure fingers stroking through his hair. The thought sends a hot trickle of shame through his veins and he pushes the thought firmly to one side. He’s stark raving bonkers if he’s thinking of behaving like a puppy around Malfoy. The very idea is so ridiculous Harry would laugh, if it wasn’t so pathetic. The ache of loneliness he feels on occasions when he’s surrounded by families laughing together returns and an unexpected heat pricks behind his eyes.

“It’s really over.” Malfoy seems oblivious to Harry’s rush of emotion, his attention focused on Lady. He pulls a face. “She’s taking full advantage of the fact I’m indebted to her for letting me off relatively lightly after everything.”

“Did you love her?” It’s an odd question, but Harry has to know. He holds his breath and Malfoy looks up, his eyes narrowing and a flicker of something Harry can’t read crossing his features.

“No. I didn’t.”

“Oh.” Harry scuffs the tip of his trainer on the ground, watching the dry dust rise and settle. “Why were you with her then?”

“You know why.” Malfoy stands and nudges Lady. “Come on, darling. Let’s get you home.”

Another rush of pleasure travels through Harry’s body and he gives Lady another rub to her head, largely to hide his hot cheeks from Malfoy’s gaze. “Well, I suppose I should be off.”

Malfoy hums. “Yes. You must be busy doing heroic things.”

“Not particularly.” Harry shrugs and looks back up at Malfoy. “It’s my day off. No heroics today.”

Malfoy’s lips twitch into a smile and he tips his head to the side, contemplating Harry. He points at one of the clouds in the sky, a large, fluffy ball of white. "Don't you think that looks like her?"

"Lady?" Harry tilts his head and tries see a shape that's anything other than cloud. If he looks really hard, he can almost see it. "Yeah, I suppose."

"It does." Malfoy says, as if it's settled. He pauses and fiddles with Lady's collar. "You could help me dog sit if you like? We’ve got pheasant for lunch.”

“Of course you have.” Harry stands and frowns. “I’ve never had pheasant.”

“Of course you haven’t.” Malfoy rolls his eyes and they make their way through the park with Lady bounding along beside them.

*

There are things inside that Harry never really lets out in the open. They itch beneath the surface of his skin, just too deep to scratch. They make his heart pound and beads of perspiration dot his neck and forehead. They make his heart race and want curl in his belly until his skin is fire and flame.

He doesn’t talk about that sort of stuff out loud, though. He’s not even sure where he’d begin. The one time he said something, he mumbled it on the cusp of a mind-blowing orgasm, with his lips pressed against the hot skin of Malfoy’s neck.

_“Do you ever want to let go, sometimes?”_

_“Do you?” Malfoy turns the question back on Harry without answering, punctuating the words with kisses._

_“Yeah, I…I sometimes think it’d be nice to just let someone else take charge.”_

_“How?” Malfoy cups Harry’s prick through his jeans and it’s just enough to make the words spill from Harry as easy as soft puffs of breath leave his lips._

_“I’d like to just be stripped bare and kneel on the floor for someone, I think. I’d like them to tell me what to do and let me make them feel good. I would, you know. I’d make them feel so good. Maybe I could even be tied up. Or something.”_

It’s not the half of it and it’s certainly not the worst of it, those dark thoughts that burn in his mind when darkness falls and Harry slips his hand beneath his pyjamas and imagines the slim slide of Malfoy’s fingers through his hair and a note of command slipping from his lips in that low, cultured drawl of his when he’s all official business.

_There’s a pause. A reckless heartbeat. Malfoy’s hand on Harry’s jeans, rubbing the heel of his palm against the hard heat trapped behind the thick denim._

_“You want to lose control?” Whispers, rough fingers seeking out flesh and pushing Harry closer to the wall. Cool fingers wrapping around his wrist and the brick hard and rough against his skin. Malfoy bites Harry’s neck and licks the mark he must have made, his words caught between them hot and urgent against Harry’s skin. “You want me to tell you what to do?”_

_“Yeah, but…” Harry doesn’t say ‘I want you to look after me afterwards’ because he can’t. The things he yearns for in the too-quiet moments are even more revealing somehow than the stuff he thinks about when he’s hard and eager, picturing Malfoy pushing him onto his knees. Malfoy’s not ready for that. Harry’s not ready for it, either. Instead he lets Malfoy pin him harder against the wall and he comes in his pants, jutting forward against Malfoy’s palm and spilling his heat and shame between them both as Malfoy pants out Harry’s name against well-kissed lips._

“What’s on your mind?” Malfoy eyes Harry, shrewd and sharp as he chews on a delicate mouthful of rich pheasant.

“Work.” Harry takes a bite of his food and tries to change the subject. “This is really good, Malfoy. I didn’t know you could cook.”

Malfoy wrinkles his nose. “I might be in a Muggle property but I still have house-elves, Potter. Good grief.” He shudders as if the thought of cooking is vastly unappealing. His eyes narrow. “That wasn’t your work face.”

“How would you know?” Harry fights back the heat rising in his cheeks.

“I remember.” Malfoy takes another bite of his food, watching Harry closely. “Did you ever find someone to take control?”

Harry nearly chokes on his pheasant because, Christ. Here he is at Malfoy’s too-long table with a ridiculous looking dog practically drooling at his feet and an expensive bottle of half-finished claret too far away to reach. He’s here in Malfoy’s home which is full of mahogany and old books which probably cost more than Harry’s house and Malfoy just comes out with a question like that after three years of silence.

“It’s not really any of your business.”

Malfoy’s eyes flash with undisguised triumph. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Harry huffs and polishes off the rest of his pheasant, pushing the plate away. He sits back and watches Malfoy eat, dropping his hand to sneak the last bit of his bread roll to Lady when he thinks Malfoy isn’t looking.

“I saw that.” Malfoy gives Harry a look and then returns to his food.

“Eyes in the back of your head.” Harry snorts and picks up Lady when she starts fussing, stroking her as she flops awkwardly in his lap until she settles. “I think I’d like a dog.”

“You had one, once.” Malfoy finishes his food and puts his knife and fork down, wiping the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “That mongrel of yours.”

Slivers of pain slice at Harry’s heart and he swallows, trying to find the words. In the end he settles for burying his face in Lady’s fur and letting out a non-committal _hmm_. He doesn’t want to go back to Grimmauld Place. When the night draws in, it’s full of ghosts and memories. He just wants to get drunk and go dancing and maybe have Malfoy snog him against a wall as if they’re eighteen again and partying to forget. Not even Muggle bars with their go-go boys and loud music could help with that, in the end, though. Of all the gorgeous, gay men in London, Harry still found himself in the shadows with Draco Malfoy and coming on command in the palm of his hand.

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” Harry thinks out loud.

“What?”

“That of the people we could have ended up snogging we found each other.”

“Oh.” Malfoy looks away and his face twists in a strange expression. “It’s a bit of coincidence.”

Harry watches Malfoy who looks uncomfortable for the first time since his return. Harry frowns and he lets Lady jump off his lap and scamper across the hard-wood floor to nip at Malfoy’s ankles.

“What? You’re not telling me something.”

“Lady. Bed.” Malfoy points to the bed in the corner and snaps his fingers. Lady wags her tail at him and her tongue lolls from her mouth. He rolls his eyes and gives the back of her ears a rub which makes her bark happily. “I mean it, you daft mutt. Bed, now. There’s no more food for you, I’m not as soft as Potter here – he’s easily charmed by a pretty face and a ridiculous amount of fur.”

Harry laughs, the interaction enveloping him like a well-worn blanket. It’s nice, watching Malfoy with a dog. It brings out a different side to him that Harry saw glimpses of once, a long time ago. “Who are you trying to kid, Malfoy? You’re completely gone for that dog.”

“I am not.” Malfoy bristles and then huffs when Lady begins to chase her tail. He picks her up and deposits her on her bed, pointing a finger at her with his hand on his hip. “Stay.” He glances at Potter and then whispers as if it might stop Harry from hearing. “If you’re good, I’ll give you a biscuit.”

Lady barks and then flops down, stretching out on the soft bedding. With a contented snuffle she begins to gnaw at one of her toys, already looking sleepy.

“Completely gone,” Harry teases. It earns him another glare from Malfoy. “It suits you.”

“Don’t be such a sap, Potter.” Malfoy snorts and swirls his wine in his glass, watching the red legs slide down the glass and disappear into the black cherry liquid. 

“You were going to tell me how you ended up in Soho.” Harry sips his wine slowly, not wanting the day to be over too soon.

“Not today, I wasn’t.” Malfoy tops up their glasses, moving the wine with a lazy flick of his wand and a murmured spell. He looks away. “I imagine you don’t have to work during the weekend.”

“Not unless there’s something big going on.” 

“And is there?”

Harry grins at Malfoy. “Biggest thing I’ve got on my plate is the mysterious case of the sandwich thief.”

Malfoy’s nose wrinkles. “The what?”

“Someone’s been nicking my sandwiches. I think it’s Dawlish. He’s definitely the sort.”

Malfoy snorts with laughter. “Unrest at the Ministry. Protecting children, animals and sandwiches. What a glamourous life you lead.”

“Yeah, something like that.” Harry stretches, more relaxed than he’s been in ages. “Why? Who’s asking what I’ve got on this weekend?”

“I am.” Malfoy’s cheeks turn unexpectedly pink. “I imagine you’re seeing Weasley and Granger, if you don’t have to save the world.”

“Nope. They’re going away this weekend. I reckon Ron’s got something romantic planned. They probably don’t want me there.”

Malfoy laughs and he shakes his head. “Probably not.” He pauses. “Tomorrow we’re having filet mignon for lunch.”

“Steak?” Harry raises his eyebrows at Malfoy. “Don’t you ever just fancy a ham and cheese toastie?”

“Heathen.” Malfoy scoops Lady up onto his lap when she leaves her bed and begins yipping at his ankles. He strokes her until she settles, murmuring something to her under his breath. “You don’t fancy it, then?” He keeps his head down, his words quiet enough that Harry almost misses them.

Warmth settles around Harry and he smiles. “I suppose I could tear myself away from the paperwork. Same time?”

“Yes.” Malfoy looks up. The pinkness has left his cheeks and he’s composed again, meeting Harry’s gaze and holding it for a charged moment. “Same time.”

*

On his way to Malfoy's, Harry stops in the park to look up at the sky. There's hardly a cloud and the sun makes the blue even brighter and more vivid than usual. He wonders at Malfoy finding shapes in the clouds and thinks of those years spent apart, under the same expansive sky. He remembers the weeks after Malfoy's departure when he'd find himself standing in the rain, fingers touching his lips with the memory of Malfoy's kisses burning hot against his mouth. The thought makes him shiver and he stuffs his hands in his pockets, making his way quickly to Malfoy's flat.

Lady barrels into the hall, her paws slipping and sliding on the polished wood and she launches herself at Harry when Malfoy opens the door.

“Come on, you ridiculous thing.” Malfoy’s glare doesn’t detract from the fond tone in his voice as he tries to coax Lady back. “Leave Potter alone.”

“She’s fine.” Harry fusses over Lady until she gets bored and pads off deep into the flat. He sniffs the air and laughs, focusing on Malfoy at last. “That doesn’t smell like your posh steak.”

“I thought we’d do something different. The house-elves were very cross with me. You deprived them of the opportunity to make a feast.” 

Harry follows Malfoy into the kitchen where two gigantic ham and cheese toasties are arranged artfully on simple plates, a couple of bottles of beer out on the kitchen counter. The plates are piled high with salad and some kind of banana bread is cooling on a rack. 

“Looks like they made the best of it.” Harry perches on a high stool by the kitchen counter and uses his wand to open his beer, opening a bottle for Malfoy and waiting for him to take a seat. “This looks great. It’s very homely, Malfoy. Baking on a Saturday afternoon.”

“They insisted.” Malfoy pulls a face and takes a bite of his sandwich. His eyes flutter closed and he lets out a low _hum_ of appreciation. “Not bad, Potter.”

“Delicious, I’d say.” Harry tucks into his sandwich with fervour. The rich cheddar cheese oozes from the bread and the ham is thick and tasty. He takes a forkful of salad and murmurs with appreciation at the light vinaigrette dressing and crisp flavours. “Better than the left-over pizza I was going to have.”

Malfoy wrinkles his nose with distaste. “Don’t you have a house-elf?”

Harry shrugs. “One that likes to burn things and flavours everything with cinnamon because he knows I hate the stuff. I do my own cooking.”

“Of course you do.” Malfoy eats his sandwich more delicately than Harry, taking a knife and fork to the particularly messy bits and then wiping his hands on his napkin, dabbing it at the corner of his lips. Harry watches as Malfoy takes a swallow of his beer, taking in the way his slim throat works and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He looks away when Malfoy catches him staring, heat rising in his cheeks.

“This time next week we’ll be getting ready for the Ministry ball.”

“Yes.” Malfoy takes another sip of his beer and pushes a tomato around his plate with a fork. “I meant to ask you about that.”

“Oh?” Curious, Harry watches Malfoy who seems to be toying with saying something.

“Are you going with anyone?”

Harry shakes his head. “Nope. Well, unless you count Ron and Hermione. Which I don’t.”

“Good grief, you can’t turn up to something like that with Weasley and Granger.” Malfoy looks horrified. “The _Prophet_ will start saying you’re some kind of eunuch.”

Harry bristles. “Just because I don’t slag about with people in public that doesn’t mean I don’t see people. I don’t particularly care what the press says.”

“You should, for something like this.” A flash of annoyance crosses Malfoy’s features. “I thought the whole point was to raise visibility – not to hide in the corner with your friends.”

“I don’t _hide_.” Harry grits his teeth because that’s rich coming from Malfoy. “You’re the one that ran away, remember? I’ve been giving interviews to every paper that wants them for the last few years. I’ve put up with all kinds of articles and speculation about my private life – I had to eat Sunday lunch with Molly and Arthur with a copy of _Wizarding Wear_ on the table, speculating over whether I prefer to top or bottom.”

Malfoy snorts, his eyes flashing. “Yes, I saw that.” He trails his eyes along the length of Harry’s body in a very distracting fashion. “The press really does get you all wrong, doesn’t it?”

“Shut up, Malfoy.” Harry ignores the heat that curls in his belly at the way Malfoy looks at him. “That’s not the point. The point is I arranged the ball and drummed up Ministry backing. Whenever I have any spare time I’ve been working with Hermione to take the campaign for Bonding Equality to the Wizengamot. Just because I don’t have another wizard to snog in public doesn’t mean I’ve been _hiding_.” His anger makes his skin hot and Harry glares at Malfoy. “I’ll bring someone, if it’s that important to you. I’ve got a few options.” He doesn’t, actually, but Malfoy doesn’t need to know that. Besides, he’s fairly sure he could persuade George or Oliver.

“Well bully for you.” Malfoy looks disgruntled, his fork clattering to his plate as he takes another swig of his beer. “Far be it from me to get in the way of your busy love life.”

“I don’t…” Harry’s hands curl into fists because Malfoy’s so _infuriating_. He has to force himself to lower his voice. “What’s this about? You come back after years away and you think you know everything about me.”

“I know more than you think.” Malfoy replies, crossly. “You’re the one who’s being obtuse.” He picks at his trouser leg and then looks at Harry with narrowed eyes. “Who are they, then? These wizards of yours.”

“No one in particular.” Harry shrugs. He doesn’t look away from Malfoy’s piercing gaze, even though he wants to. “Friends. People I think might have been interested in the past.”

“Oh.” Malfoy seems to relax a little. “So there’s no one special?”

Harry frowns at Malfoy. “Not really. Not these days.”

The unspoken words hang between them and Malfoy begins to pile up their plates, sending them into the sink with a few flicks of his wand. “I was going to ask you to go with me.”

“Oh.” Harry’s heart quickens and he swallows, thickly. “You were? Pretty bloody awful way to ask a bloke out on a date, Malfoy.”

Malfoy gives Harry a look. “Is that a no?”

Despite himself, Harry’s lips tug into a smile. “It saves me having to find someone else just to stop you from going off on one.”

“That works nicely then.” Looking smug, Malfoy grabs another couple of beers and stands. “Are you coming outside?”

“Might as well.” Shaking his head, Harry grabs his beer and follows Malfoy through the flat.

*

The balcony is long and narrow, stretching across the length of the flat. It gives a view of London’s roof tops and even though it’s not that high up, Harry feels like he’s on top of the world. He’s always loved being in the sky, watching people milling around down below. They never look up. He’s noticed that with years of flying and zooming through the clouds on his broom. Muggles are so busy trying to get from one place to another, nobody ever looks up.

“I don’t know why I spend so much energy getting you to spend time with me. I don’t know why I care.” Malfoy unbuttons his shirt sleeves and rolls them up, stretching his long legs out and crossing them at the ankle. He retrieves a pair of sunglasses from the table nearby and puts them on, tipping his face up to the afternoon sun. Harry isn’t sure how he feels about not being able to see Malfoy’s eyes but he can’t deny that Malfoy looks good, lounging in his seat with long fingers curled around his bottle of beer.

“Me neither.” Harry settles back in his seat after watching people walking on the streets below for a moment longer. “You have filet mignon and pheasant for lunch and drink expensive wine like it’s going out of fashion. I just like ham and cheese toasties and a pint of ale at the Leaky.”

“Are we playing this game?” Malfoy’s voice is a low, sleepy murmur. He sounds relaxed, with his face tilted up towards the sun.

“What game?”

“Talking about the differences between us.” Malfoy turns and he seems to be looking at Harry through his dark shades. “I’ve got a few.”

“Go on, then.” Harry isn’t sure where this is going and he has a sense Malfoy’s not thinking about cheese toasties and steak anymore.

“You’re a hero, Ministry darling and the press adores you.”

Harry pulls a face, because he really doesn’t want to do this. “The press seems to like you well enough, these days. Besides, I’m not much of a hero doing paperwork and sandwich patrol.”

Malfoy snorts. “You’ll always be a hero. You can’t bloody help yourself.”

The itch returns and Harry’s chest feels too tight, his heart thumping. “Don’t be a prat.”

“I’m not.” Malfoy slides his glasses onto his forehead, watching Harry. “For some reason you don’t want anyone to see you like that when I’d give my right arm to command the kind of respect you get from people with power and influence.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Harry mutters. He scratches his hand until Malfoy stills him with long, cool fingers.

“In private, you’re different. You’re desperate for someone to take control.”

“You reckon?” Harry swallows. “What are you desperate for, then?”

Malfoy keeps his eyes fixed on Harry. “Finding someone who can overlook my past. Someone who knows everything about me and still trusts me enough to let me take control.”

Harry tilts his palm, letting Malfoy’s fingers slide between his own. “Really?”

“Yes.” Malfoy extracts his hand after giving Harry’s a light squeeze and he settles his sunglasses back on his face. “Not all differences are bad ones.”

“I suppose.” The familiar, dizzying arousal which Harry’s only ever felt around Malfoy returns. He takes a gulp of his beer to steady himself and changes the subject before he becomes too hot and bothered. He takes in London’s rooftops and feeling a little tension leave his body as the sun warms his skin. “Are you going to tell me how you ended up in Soho?”

Malfoy sounds almost sleepy again and he pulls a face. “I’m not sure I want to.”

“Strange, though. That I’d find you there instead of someone else. Don’t you think?”

“Strange that you’d gravitate towards someone with the same experiences as you who won’t have you put in an institution for telling them you’re a wizard?” Malfoy’s face scrunches up. “It’s not that peculiar, is it? What would you do if a Muggle tried to _take control_ and got it wrong? Cast a spell? Have the Ministry come and _Obliviate_ them and then tell the press about Harry Potter’s sex club excursions?”

Harry winces, because that thought had occurred to him more than once. “Why do you think I don’t go to those kind of Muggle clubs?”

“Do you go to any kind of Muggle clubs these days?” 

“Not really.” The strobe lights and the hot, sweaty bodies seem to make Harry want to jump out of his skin now instead of helping him escape from the stuff in his mind. He’s always so restless, itchy and alone. That’s what hurts most of all. Watching groups buy each other drinks and jump about on the dance floor just makes him feel old and tired. He’s twenty-something going on seventy. “It’s not as much fun as it once was.”

“I’m sure it’s not.” Malfoy’s lips tilt into a smile and he looks insufferably smug.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Of course not, Potter.” Malfoy even sounds smug. He’s practically preening.

“You still haven’t answered my question. How did you end up dancing with Muggles in Soho?”

There’s a silence which stretches out and a car beneath them roars down the street before the sound of the motor fades into the distance. 

“I followed you. That night when we’d just had our exam results and everyone was out in The Leaky Cauldron.”

A jolt of surprise makes Harry turn and stare at Malfoy, who still keeps his face tilted towards the sun. Damn his glasses and the casual way he says _I followed you_ as if it’s something that happens all the time.

“Bit creepy of you, Malfoy. Following me around like a….” The word catches on Harry’s tongue for a reason he doesn’t want to examine too closely.

“Like a puppy?” Malfoy pushes his glasses onto his forehead again and turns, facing Harry. He’s got that same, unreadable look on his face and his gaze is dark and intense. “Like I said, really more your thing isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Harry wonders if Malfoy’s using _Legilimency_ on Harry and he has to check there’s nothing invading his mind. He’s got no idea how Malfoy knows…that. There’s no way someone just _guesses_ and hits on those private fantasies which make Harry blush even when he’s on his own and he’s the only one that can see his thoughts and desires.

“Don’t you?” Malfoy slips his glasses back on and turns away. “I followed you because I knew you weren’t going home. You were wired, that night. Don’t you remember?”

“Maybe.” Harry shrugs and squints at the sun, bright dots swimming before his eyes. “I’d had a few. I just wanted to have fun.” The boy drinking too much beer and bursting with the need to claw out of his skin is an unfamiliar, hazy memory. He thought the world was his oyster, then. Christ, he was young. That was before the long evenings in Grimmauld Place. Before the worst of the nightmares came. It didn’t take Harry long to realise finding peace isn’t as simple as having a few pints and a quick shag.

“I wondered who you were going to see. I thought there was…someone.” Malfoy’s voice lowers and he’s almost murmuring, soft and soothing. “Don’t you just sense these things about people sometimes?”

Harry thinks about his conversations with Oliver Wood, the lingering touches and flirty grins. He thinks about the way he’d gravitate towards Severus Snape’s portrait during long, hot summers rebuilding Hogwarts and the way he’d hang on to every word Sirius said to him with reverence. All of it was probably driven by a desire he didn’t have the time or inclination to recognise at that point in his life. He swallows and nods, before realising Malfoy probably can’t see it. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Well. I suppose I sensed something about you. Something…familiar. Do you remember when I saw you in the bathroom?”

“Yes.” Harry bites back a snort of laughter. “You were pissed.”

“Was not.” Malfoy sounds affronted. “Anyway, I told you I liked that stupid outfit of yours.”

_“You look good tonight, Potter.”_

_A cool, cultured drawl in Harry’s ear. Slim fingers on his arm, sending prickles of heat through his skin and making his heart race. Sweet breath against his cheek, Malfoy’s cool scent and soft hair just close enough for Harry to run his fingers through it. A dizzying intake of breath that has nothing to do with beer or Ron’s ‘Gryffindor Champions’ cocktail._

_“You too, Malfoy.”_

_The bathroom door closing, letting in a breath of air._

_An empty room and Harry’s hand on his chest, touching the beat, beat of his own heart._

“That made you follow me?”

“You said I looked good too. That confirmed my suspicions.” Malfoy shrugs.

“I didn’t know what to say. I was surprised.”

Malfoy laughs and it’s bright and loud. “So was I. You have the most appalling dress sense.”

“Hey.” Harry glares at Malfoy and he knows Malfoy sees it when he tips his head and gives Harry a wink. “You liked it enough to follow me half-way across London.”

“Not just the outfit,” Malfoy murmurs. 

That’s…unexpected. Harry takes a steadying sip of his beer. “Really?” 

“Stop looking for flattery, Potter. I was eighteen, horny and I realised I’d just met someone else like me for the first time. It could have been anyone.”

Harry grins around his beer, a rush of confidence warming him to the tips of his toes. “Yeah, you tell yourself that, Malfoy. You _loved_ me. Practically stalked me around London just for a cheeky snog against a wall.”

Malfoy pulls off his glasses and puts them down, rolling his eyes at Harry. “I swear to Merlin, Potter. You’re such an arse. This is why I can’t stand you.”

Harry pats his hand to his mouth as if he’s bored. “That’s what you say. I know better.”

Malfoy lets out a low growl of annoyance. With a huff, he has another sip of his beer and stands. He leans against the balcony, looking down at the street below. “For reasons which will forever be a mystery to me, I followed your sorry arse to Soho and…well. The rest is history.”

“Yep.” Harry remembers the bright lights and the sight of Malfoy, nursing a pink drink at a bar and fending off Muggles with a glare as sharp as his angular features. He remembers being drunk and fuzzy with booze, stumbling a little on his way to Malfoy and brushing against him. He remembers taking Malfoy’s drink and downing it, before pulling him onto the dance floor and grinding their bodies together. He was clumsy and uncoordinated and then Malfoy took control, hands firm on Harry’s hips and lips strong and searching. “You snogged my face off in the middle of the club.”

“Only because you were going to get yourself in a world of trouble if I let you go home with anyone else.” Malfoy turns so he’s facing Harry, legs crossed as he leans against the balcony. “Then you told me you wanted to come again next Saturday.”

“And I did.”

“I’ll say.” Malfoy gives Harry a loaded stare and heat rises in Harry’s cheeks as he remembers the way the eager _please, please_ fell from his lips and the way Malfoy took Harry apart, kiss by kiss. There was no doubt who was in control on that occasion.

“So, not just a coincidence then.”

“No.” Malfoy looks into the distance, his brow furrowed.

Harry wonders what Malfoy can see in the light scattering of clouds and why he looks at the sky as if it hurts. He pictures Malfoy sitting in the park next to Grimmauld Place where Harry walks every day, just waiting for something or someone. “And this?”

Malfoy doesn’t look at Harry again, his shoulder lifting and falling in a careless shrug.

“Perhaps this isn't a coincidence either.” 

Harry stares at him. He stands and he’s about to move closer to Malfoy when the sound of barking and paws scrabbling against Malfoy’s wooden floor distracts them both. 

“I think you’re wanted.”

“That bloody dog.” Malfoy pushes himself off the balcony and brushes past Harry. 

“I should go.” Harry looks at the setting sun, not wanting to outstay his welcome. He’s finished his beer and although he can’t imagine anything worse than going back to Grimmauld Place at the moment, he’s conscious he doesn’t want to let Malfoy know the full extent of his lonely nights staring at the four walls as they close in on him until he wants to claw his way out of his own skin. Malfoy probably thinks Harry has everything together. It wouldn’t do to let him see that’s not the case at all.

Malfoy stops in the doorway, turning and raising an eyebrow at Harry. “Oh? I thought you were a man of leisure today, and tomorrow’s Sunday. I was hoping I could convince you to come dancing. For old time’s sake.”

Harry’s heart thuds in his chest and he stares at Malfoy. “Dancing?” He looks down at his faded t-shirt and ripped jeans. His comfortable canvas trainers are just the wrong side of scruffy. “In this?”

“Borrow something. You know how to use a wand, don’t you?” 

Harry laughs at the way Malfoy looks at him, flirty and cocksure. “I reckon I can handle a wand, yes.” Warmth pulses through his body and a spark of excitement grips him, his smile wide and probably embarrassingly eager. If it is, Malfoy doesn’t make any comment. Instead he watches Harry with the same amused look, his eyes darkening as he studies Harry’s face as if he likes what he sees. 

“Glad to hear it. Then we’re dancing?” Malfoy’s tone is cool and crisp but Harry knows Malfoy just well enough by now to detect the note of uncertainty there.

“I suppose we are. Go and see to Lady.”

Malfoy sighs and rolls his eyes. He closes the door behind him and Harry leans over the balcony, watching London go about its business and the way the light from the setting sun turns the white buildings yellow, then orange and red.

*

“Your wardrobe’s bigger than my bedroom.” Harry’s not sure Malfoy can hear him over the shower. He looks at the clothes, fastidiously hung in their precise rows. “Just pick something,” Harry mutters. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to decide?”

He fingers an expensive looking tuxedo. He’s not going to wear that, obviously. They’re going to Soho, not the Royal Opera House. Still, he likes the thought of Malfoy in black tie. He can imagine the way the dark trousers would show off Malfoy’s legs and the fitted jacket with its satin lapel makes Harry think of Malfoy’s fingers sliding over the lapel of his suit the other night. He turns his back on the expensive dress robes and wizarding clothing and thumbs through the neatly folded piles of Muggle clothing.

“Any luck?” Malfoy appears in the doorway, with a towel wrapped around his waist. His chest is still damp and his hair is slicked back, wet from the shower. The familiar scent of Malfoy’s cologne and his shampoo fills the air. Harry has to remember how to breathe as his voice catches while he openly stares at Malfoy.

“Like what you see, Potter?” Malfoy breezes past Harry, clearly noticing the way Harry’s openly ogling him. He doesn’t seem to mind, probably because he’s an arrogant prat. Harry tries not to stare, keeping his eyes studiously focused on some particularly attractive navy blue velvet dress robes which he wonders if Malfoy might wear to the Ministry Bonding Equality Ball. “ _Accio_ jeans.”

Harry raises his hands instinctively expecting half of the wardrobe to come hurtling towards him, when a lone pair of dark denim jeans lands in Malfoy’s outstretched hand. He laughs and shakes his head. “One pair of jeans. All this and you’ve got one pair of jeans.”

“Some of us have a sense of style.” Malfoy sniffs and throws the jeans at Harry. He flips through a pile of clothes with a frown on his face and then retrieves a plain white t-shirt with a low v-neck. He picks out a pair of pointed black boots with silver buckle details and a slight heel and passes the rest of the outfit to Harry. He adjusts his towel and gestures to the bathroom. “Use whatever you like.”

“Thanks.” Harry tries to ignore the warm feeling which settles in the pit of his stomach at Malfoy dressing him. “I won’t be long.”

“Fine.” Malfoy picks out a jacket and holds it up, frowning at it and not looking at Harry. “Oh, and Potter?”

“Yeah?” Harry turns to see Malfoy watching him, a smirk on his face. 

“Try not to make that t-shirt as oversized as the ones you usually wear. It’s supposed to be tight.”

“Of course it is.” Harry pulls a face but a shiver of pleasure travels down the length of his spine as he has an unexpected desire to please Malfoy. 

He leaves Malfoy in his towel and leans against the bathroom door when it closes behind him. He shuts his eyes and breathes slowly to stop the hammering of his heart.

*

When Harry leaves the bathroom he’s dressed in the clothes Malfoy selected for him. As instructed, the t-shirt is tight – too tight for Harry’s liking but he hopes he’s done something right when Malfoy turns to stare at him.

“That’s…”

Harry runs his hands down the soft material, suddenly self-conscious. The jeans are tight too, molded to his backside and his legs. The boots make his legs go on for longer than usual with their slight heel and pointed toe. The jeans are tight around the ankle and the buckles flash silver in the light from Draco’s bedside lamp. He looks at himself in the mirror when Malfoy doesn’t seem inclined to give him any reassurance. His hair is as messy as ever and the outfit is too revealing, the jeans showing every line of muscle and the distinctive bulge in his crotch. His reflection flushes and Harry rakes a hand through his hair, trying to pat it down. “This is too tight, isn’t it? I look like a right idiot.”

“Harry.” Malfoy’s voice is low and rough. When Harry turns, Malfoy’s giving him a look which makes Harry’s heart pound harder in his chest. His hands are clammy and he swallows, meeting Malfoy’s stare head on and firming his jaw as if to say _well, then?_. “You look…good.” Malfoy shifts closer to Harry and he runs his fingers along the waist of Harry’s jeans. Instead of looking at Harry, he looks at Harry’s torso and lower. His breath is warm and sweet against Harry’s cheek and it’s too distracting for words. “Perfect.”

“Err, thanks.” A rush of pleasure at the praise floods through Harry and he can feel the blasted flush he can’t seem to control around Malfoy travelling from his neck to his cheeks. Once he composes himself, he finally notices Draco’s outfit. He’s in a shirt unbuttoned to the top of his chest and a pair of fitted charcoal grey trousers. The cuff links on his sleeve are emerald and silver, the only nod to his wizarding heritage. He smells delicious. His usually fresh cologne is spicier tonight and his skin is soap-fresh and warm. When he meets Harry’s eyes, they’re toe to toe and they are just the right height to look at one another straight on with Malfoy just the slightest bit taller than Harry. They stare at one another as the silence settles in the room and Harry presses a little closer to Malfoy, closing nearly all of the space between them. “You said there’ll be dancing. Together?”

Malfoy’s throat works, the only sign he’s as affected by their proximity as Harry. He lifts his hand and he brushes Harry’s hair to one side, his fingers lingering before he drops his hand and moves away from Harry. “Obviously.” His gruff tone gives him away and when he turns back to Harry after gathering his wand and his keys together, his eyes are dark with arousal. “I’m not dressing you like that just so you can snog a Muggle.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Harry gives Malfoy a smile which makes Malfoy look almost pained, as he stares at Harry as if he’s trying to read every part of him. The funny thing is, Harry really _wouldn’t_. He’s got the strangest desire to stick close to Malfoy’s side and if there’s going to be kissing it’s Malfoy he wants to press him against the wall. It’s Malfoy’s lips he wants to feel, hot and urgent against his own. 

A bark behind them makes Harry tear himself away from Malfoy. Lady jumps up as high as she can, running in a circle before returning to Harry. With a laugh he crouches down (which is significantly harder in skinny jeans than his usual comfortable ones). He ruffles the fur on top of her head until she’s licking his hand and nudging against his palm. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

“She really _isn’t_ , don’t encourage her.” The firm pressure of Malfoy’s hand on Harry’s shoulder makes him turn. 

“Are we okay to leave her?”

“She’s fed and watered and I let her out earlier to use the bathroom.” The way Malfoy says it makes it sound like she’s got her own puppy en suite somewhere, and Harry bites his lip to hold back his laughter at the image. “She’s going to be fine for a couple of hours. She’ll sleep soon enough.”

“Still, it doesn’t seem right to leave her here by herself.” Harry rubs Lady’s ears and he’s rewarded with another lick to his palm. The thought of leaving her in Malfoy’s large flat by herself makes Harry strangely sad and he wants to cuddle her close to his chest and tell her they’re not going anywhere.

“You really are the most dreadful sap, Potter.” Malfoy crouches next to Harry and pets Lady until she’s pawing at them both and barking. 

“I just…” Harry breathes out as the shadows in the room start to close in, his heart thudding in his chest. “It’s never nice to be left alone.”

“Harry, look at me.” Harry turns his head and Malfoy’s watching him closely. “I won’t leave you alone.”

Harry shakes his head, a hot flush rising from his chest to his cheeks. “I’m not talking about me.”

Malfoy’s fingers rest on Harry’s knee and then he takes Harry’s hand, tugging him to his feet. “We’ll go out for a few hours. I want to take you back to that bar we went to the first time and buy you one of those horrible drinks you used to love. Then we’ll come home and see her if you like. Make sure she’s okay.”

“You want me to come back here?”

“I don’t look this good when I want to go home alone.” Malfoy smirks and he squeezes Harry’s hand before releasing it. “Besides, there’s something I want to talk to you about and I want one of your rum and cokes to do it.”

“There is?” Harry frowns and Malfoy picks up Lady, cooing to her and murmuring soothing words.

“Yes there is. Come on, darling. Let’s go downstairs.”

Harry knows Malfoy’s talking to the dog, but despite himself he follows anyway. The tension leaves his shoulders as his breathing settles and the panic subsides until he’s waving goodbye to Lady and following Malfoy through the Floo to Diagon Alley.

*

The club is dark and busy. The dance floor is already heaving with Muggles, the music loud and upbeat. Video screens line the walls and unfamiliar songs blast from the speakers. Harry has to crowd close to the groups at the bar, trying to fight his way to the front to get a drink for him and Draco. The panic he felt last time he was out clutches at his chest and he turns, trying to catch sight of Draco.

“I’m right here.” Malfoy’s hand slips into Harry’s and he presses their sides together. “Just behind you.”

“Okay.” Harry breathes out and pushes ahead until they have a small space at the bar. He gives Draco an apologetic look. “It’s been a while. I stopped coming here when the crowds started bothering me a bit. It’s not much fun on your own.”

“No, I can imagine.” Draco nods his head towards the back room. “We’ll sit when we get the drinks. Might as well order two each.”

“Alright. I thought you wanted to dance?” Harry nudges Draco with his hip and tries not to groan when Draco’s arm slides around his waist, holding him in place. Malfoy smells so good and his arm is warm and firm around Harry. The crowds and the music fade into the background until it’s just the two of them – eighteen again and grinding together as their lips seek something neither of them knew they were searching for all those years ago.

“Dancing can wait. Talking and drinking first.” Draco has to speak in Harry’s ear to be heard over the music and his warm breath sends a shiver of pleasure down Harry’s spine. “Better make mine doubles.”

“On a mission tonight, Malfoy?”

“Of a sort.” Draco doesn’t move back, if anything he’s even closer now and his lips brush Harry’s ear in a nearly-there kiss. “A mission to get you to talk, if nothing else.”

“You could have warned me.” Harry shakes his head, because getting pissed around Malfoy seems like a dangerous thing to do. Not least when he’s got all these secrets bubbling up inside him. Secrets he seems to like sharing with Malfoy after a heated kiss or two. He was always so easy for Malfoy. Still is, he supposes.

Harry orders the drinks and they make their way through the dancing crowds to a dark space lit by low purple lighting, where groups and couples are gathered together on the benches talking to one another and clinking glasses. He finds an empty spot in a booth just to the back of the room and slides into it, placing the drinks on the table. Draco stops when a topless man with a tray of shots approaches him, shouting something in his ear. He gives the man his blinding, Malfoy smile and Harry’s stomach rolls. He presses his lips together and clenches his hand into a fist, an unexpected bolt of jealousy coursing through him.

“Two more.” Malfoy finally sits down, two shots in hand and presses close to Harry. “Is there a problem, Potter?”

Harry raises his eyebrow at Draco and snorts, before downing his shot. “You’re a right arse. What the fuck was that?”

“Flirting. I’ll try it on you later, if you like.” Malfoy squeezes Harry’s knee and then drinks his own shot. “Jealous?”

“A bit.” Harry shrugs, because he might as well admit it. He downs his shot and he’s rewarded with Draco’s lips back against his ear, even though the music is much quieter now.

“Don’t be.” Draco pulls back and picks up his drink, tipping it in Harry’s direction. “To old times.”

“No.” Harry clinks his glass with Draco’s relaxing and flashing him a quick smile. “To new adventures.”

Draco laughs and takes a sip of his drink, his eyes fixed on Harry. “So you want someone to take control?”

Harry’s cheeks heat but he doesn’t flinch away from the question. Dressed in Malfoy’s clothes and with their thighs pressed together under the table he finds himself almost eager to talk. He glances at his drink and then at Malfoy, giving him a half smile. “There’s not any Veritaserum in this, is there?”

Malfoy snorts. “Hardly. Just good, old-fashioned booze.”

“Seems to be doing the trick, whatever it is.” Harry takes another drink and tries to formulate his words. “I can’t say I’ve got much experience with any of it. I’ve looked at some magazines, found some things that interest me. I don’t know why I told you that night. I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for myself.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m even less sure.” Harry shrugs. He glances at Draco. “Does it bother you?”

“I wouldn’t be here if it did.” Draco looks at his drink, not meeting Harry’s eyes. “It intrigues me. Why haven’t you done anything about it?”

“Like what?” Harry laughs and shakes his head. “You weren't wrong about the things that might go wrong if I tried to do something like that with a Muggle. With wizards, it’s not the kind of thing you can just bring up when half the people you meet are just looking for a story to sell. I can't tell friends, because it's weird, isn't it, talking about your sex life? I’ve not really been close enough to anyone to make me want to share all the stuff that goes on up here sometimes.” He taps his finger to his head and his laughter fades. “I’m a bit fucked up.”

“Of course you are.” Draco squeezes Harry’s knee again. “But aren’t we all?”

“Perhaps.” Harry licks his lips and studies Draco. “Have you done anything like that?”

Draco nods. “A bit.”

Harry tries to hide his surprise but he’s not sure he’s entirely successful. Despite the jealousy which niggles, his curiosity gets the better of him. “Like what?”

“A bit of bondage. I know how to use a flogger. I tried age-play but it didn’t really work out.”

“Age-play?” Harry scrunches up his nose and tries to imagine being on the receiving end of a flogger. It _does_ sound appealing. “What’s that?”

“It’s like role play.” Draco looks intent now, his eyes fixed on Harry, scrutinising him as if waiting for a reaction. “He would pretend to be younger than he was and I would…take care of him.”

“What’s that got to do with sex?” Harry’s words leave him in a squeak because oh _god_ that’s too close for comfort and with the triumphant gleam in Draco’s eyes he can tell he knows it too from Harry’s expression. He’s always been shit at masking his feelings. He can’t really imagine Draco being the nurturing type but there’s something about the way he is with Lady that makes Harry feel hot and flustered whenever he spends too much time thinking about it.

“Nothing, really. It didn’t have anything to do with sex for him. I think it can be about that for other people.”

“Why didn’t it work out?” Harry’s sure his eyes are wide and he’s pressing closer still to Draco. The hand on his knee keeps him grounded and Draco’s fingers slide over his thigh and down, trailing up again towards Harry’s crotch.

“I found myself acting a little too much like my own father for my liking.” Draco winces. “Besides, he was…not really my type.”

“What's your type?” 

Draco’s lips quirk into a smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yeah, actually. I would.” Harry bites his lip when Draco’s fingers creep higher on his thigh. “ _Fuck_ , Malfoy.”

Draco removes his hand and wraps it around his drink, taking a sip as if nothing happened. “Answer your question?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to say it,” Harry mutters. 

“You like that idea?”

“Your hand on my cock? Yeah, brilliant.” Harry grins at Draco and he’s rewarded with a derisory snort.

“Slattern. I mean age play or something…similar.”

“Oh.” Harry shrugs and looks away, his heart hammering in his chest. “Not sure I’d be one for calling someone Daddy to be honest.”

“But you like the idea of letting someone else take charge? You'd like to be looked after?”

Harry nods, his cheeks hot. Draco’s fingers slide into his hair and he turns to face Draco, his heart still pounding. “Yeah, that sounds okay.”

“Do you want to try sometime?” Draco brings his lips back to Harry’s ear, brushing them against Harry’s earlobe in the most deliberate half-kiss yet. He nuzzles Harry’s neck and it leaves Harry strangely breathless as he clutches onto the table, images of himself on his knees for Draco filling his mind.

“I…don’t know.”

Malfoy pulls back and he stares at Harry, pink spots blooming in his cheeks. “Oh.”

“I mean…” Harry takes a breath and slides his fingers through Draco’s. His exhale leaves him with a shudder and he squeezes Draco’s fingers – long and cool. “I can’t do that sort of thing if I don’t know what we're doing.”

Draco’s eyes narrow but he doesn’t let go of Harry’s hand. He brushes his thumb over Harry’s cheek, a flicker of uncertainty crossing over his face as if his own movement takes him by surprise. “What do you want from me, Potter?”

Well, there’s a question Harry doesn’t know the answer to. “Does this mean anything to you or is it just a bit of fun? Are you just going to leave again if it all gets a bit much?”

Draco’s eyes narrow and he releases Harry’s hand. “We haven’t even shagged yet and he expects me to give him his heart. How typical.” He rolls his eyes before his expression softens. “Do you expect me to declare my undying love after a rum and coke and a shot of tequila? Promise that as soon as the Bonding Equality legislation passes we’ll be first in line?”

“Don’t be a prat.” Harry huffs and folds his arms, glaring at Malfoy. “You left. You left because you didn’t want to face up to whatever it was we were doing. It didn’t feel great.”

“No.” Draco looks momentarily apologetic. “I can’t imagine it did. I'm not planning on going anywhere now. I came back, didn’t I?”

“I suppose.” Harry gives Draco a look. “I’m not expecting a marriage proposal, you know. Idiot.”

“You expect something.” Draco turns his eyes heavenward. “I bet you’re the sort to profess his undying during a good shag. All very earnest and lots of staring into one another’s eyes.”

Harry huffs. “This is exactly why I’m not sure I want to do this with you. If you’re going to make fun of me-”

“For fucks sake, Potter, I’m not going to make fun of you.” Draco edges closer, his voice low. “I think I’ve got an idea of _exactly_ what sort of kinky and not so kinky shit you’re into and believe me when I say I think I’ll enjoy anything you throw at me. I might not be able to offer my heart on a platter, but I know what I want. Besides, you're rubbish at being by yourself and I’m just as bad.”

“You are?”

“Well, obviously.” Draco snorts and waves his hand. “Why do you think I’ve agreed to take on Astoria’s stupid dog?”

“Don’t call her stupid.” Harry bristles on Lady’s behalf. 

“Fine.” Draco’s lips twitch. “Why do you think I agreed to take on Astoria’s slightly ridiculous dog?”

Harry shrugs. “Because you broke Astoria’s heart and you owe her a million favours, you said.”

“Not really.” Draco looks away, his fingers beginning the familiar _tap, tap_ on the table. “The arrangement was one of convenience from the start, she was no more in love with me than I was with her. I just said that because I didn’t want you to think I’d agreed to look after a dog for two weeks because being with someone – even if it is a ridiculous mutt – is better than being alone with my thoughts.”

“Oh.” Harry puts his hand over Draco’s to stop his fingers tapping. “I’m not that keen on being alone either, really.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do, you bloody idiot.” Draco glares at Harry. “You think you’re the only one with nightmares? The only one with memories that make you want to climb out of your skin?”

The itching beneath Harry’s skin intensifies and he wonders why he never thought to consider there might be other people like him – others who feel inside out and upside down. He scratches at his arm but it doesn’t help, nothing does. His chest is tight and his heart clenches almost painfully. He has to remember how to breathe as the heat of the club and the heavy sound of the bass fill his senses. He grips his drink and swallows it down, letting the liquid cool his dry throat and closing his eyes against the groups of people having fun. He just wants to be one of them, sometimes. Anyone, _anything_ without a care in the world. Like Lady. Just the idea of being able to curl up and be looked after like that – being able to get affection without words and being held while he sinks into a dreamless sleep. It’s so appealing and a powerful rush of desire crashes over him in waves.

“It would be nice, wouldn’t it? To be like her.” Harry’s voice leaves him in a low, rough murmur. He can’t bring himself to say Lady’s name. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud, not yet. He opens his eyes and Draco’s watching him intently. He’s not laughing. If anything, he looks more serious than before. His expression is cool and implacable but there’s a heat in his eyes which even his smooth, serious face can’t hide.

“Yes, Harry.” Draco lifts his hand to brush Harry’s hair behind his ear and he lingers just long enough to rub lightly at the back of Harry’s ear. “It would be nice.”

Harry’s eyes close and he tips his cheek against Draco’s palm, allowing himself a moment for everything to melt away. After a short while he opens his eyes and pulls himself up before he can get too comfortable. He holds out his hand to Draco and nods towards the dance floor. “I thought you promised me a dance?”

Draco hesitates as if he wants to say something but then he nods, standing and taking Harry’s hand. He drains the rest of his drink and lets Harry do the same before picking up their remaining drinks and following him onto the crowded dance floor. “Had enough talking for tonight?” He presses his lips to Harry’s ear, his hands finding Harry’s hips when they find a spot to the side of the crowd.

“For the moment.” Harry shrugs and he presses close to Draco. “Besides, you didn’t get all dressed up for that, did you?”

“For what?”

“For the non-sexy stuff.” Emboldened by his rum and coke, Harry moves against Draco and feels a hardness answering his own arousal. 

“No, I suppose I didn’t.” Draco laughs and he brushes his lips against a spot on Harry’s neck which makes his pulse skitter. “I got dressed up to pull a fit boy to go home with for a long, filthy shag.”

“You did?” Draco’s words make Harry breathless and he wraps his arms around Draco’s neck, their bodies fused together with no space between them. As Draco’s fingers slip under his t-shirt and brush against his skin he wonders if he could come like this again, pressed together without even being touched. His inexperience makes him falter because Draco knows how to use a flogger. He talks about sex like he’s had a bit of it. He’s probably expecting Harry to have a list of conquests as long as his arm. He doubts Draco will believe the truth, as awkward as it is. “Any fit boy in particular?”

“There’s one I’ve had my eye on for a while.” Draco pulls back just enough to look at Harry. “If he’s interested.”

“I reckon he is. He wouldn’t mind having a shag.” Harry lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “First time for everything.”

Draco stills and Harry thinks he’s blown it. He watches the way Draco’s face twists into the same pained expression he had earlier. When he finally speaks, Harry can barely hear him over the music. He presses close to hear the broken syllables. Draco’s usual composure leaves him and his smooth drawl is clipped, his voice lower and rougher than usual. It’s Draco’s _just been snogged to within an inch of his life_ voice. His _going to come in my pants_ voice. Harry remembers that from the urgent kisses of the past. 

“You haven’t fucked anyone before?”

“Nope. Or been fucked. Don’t you want to, then?” Harry gives Draco what he hopes is a challenging look.

“Christ, Harry. Why the fuck do _you_ want to? With _me_? Why do you want to do any of this with me?” 

Before Harry can answer, Draco’s kissing him breathless. It’s just like Harry remembers in some ways and in other ways it’s completely different. This isn’t a random meeting with Draco making a fleeting appearance then disappearing into the night after fucking Harry’s mouth with his tongue and getting Harry off with the heel of his palm. This isn’t two eighteen year old boys coming out of the closet only to go home and shut the doors behind themselves again. Their kisses aren’t fresh with the memories of war and Draco doesn’t kiss Harry hard enough to hurt these days. It’s not as wet and desperate as it once was; all teeth, tongue and no finesse. They’ve both had a few kisses since and a bit more than that – a lot more, in Draco’s case, Harry assumes. 

This kiss is different but it’s still Malfoy’s distinctive cologne which assaults Harry’s senses. It’s the same, slim, cool fingers which twist into Harry’s hair and make him think about all sorts of filthy things involving those hands – those fingers. It’s still _Draco’s_ hair in Harry’s hands, soft and ridiculously white as if it’s been charmed that way. It probably has, now Harry thinks of it. Not that he’s thinking entirely clearly at the moment. Draco’s hand moves to Harry’s jaw, guiding him deeper into the kiss and licking into his mouth with slow purpose. They shift as close as two fully-clothed people can be and there’s a song playing in the background that Harry thinks he might just remember forever. He’s going to have to ask a Muggle for the name of it and work out how to play it in Grimmauld Place because he’s pretty sure he’s going to want to listen to it again and again.

Draco’s lips slide from Harry’s lips to his neck and he kisses down the column of Harry’s throat until he draws an embarrassing groan of appreciation from Harry. 

“Malfoy, that’s…gods, don’t stop…”

“I can’t…” Draco pulls back, his cheeks red and his hair unusually dishevelled. He’s breathing heavily and Harry’s heart sinks at his words.

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t keep kissing you and not get arrested for public indecency, you oaf.” Draco rolls his eyes and gives Harry another kiss, softer this time. “Come home with me?”

“We haven’t finished our drinks yet. I spent a lot of money on that round. Not all of us are filthy rich like you, Malfoy and the Galleon’s bombed against the Muggle Pound. Surely you read the financial news?” A light, giddy feeling settles over Harry and he smiles broadly at Malfoy.

“Give me that.” Draco grabs his second drink from the nearby shelf and gulps it down, handing Harry his and folding his arms. “Ready yet?”

“Someone’s eager.” Harry’s pretty eager too, he can feel the heat in his cheeks and he’s still half-hard in his too-tight jeans. Nevertheless, he takes a good couple of minutes over his drink until Malfoy’s muttering something impolite under his breath.

“If you don’t hurry up, I’m going to find that Muggle with the shots and tell him he’s pulled.”

“As if you would.” Harry finishes his drink nevertheless and slips his hand into Draco’s. He tugs him close for another kiss, sweetened by booze and good humour. “You don’t mind, then?” When they get outside, he squeezes Draco’s hand lightly and speaks with a confidence he doesn’t entirely feel. “Deflowering me, I mean.”

Draco stares at Harry as if he’s got two heads and before Harry can say another word there’s a familiar tug in his abdomen and they’re spinning through the air until they land with a thud in Draco’s bedroom. 

“You’re in so much trouble, Potter.” Draco’s definitely lost all composure now, his cheeks flushed and his voice rough. “You’re a bloody tease.”

“Am not.” Harry tugs at his t-shirt and drops it on the floor, kicking off his boots and pulling off his socks. When he’s finished he lies on the bed and pillows his head in his hands. He likes to think he looks confident, even though he doesn’t feel entirely sure of himself. He winks at Malfoy. “Just like riding a broom, I hear.”

“If you compare me to a Firebolt, I’m going to Hex you into next Sunday.” Despite his words, Draco’s smiling and he’s got this look in his eyes which makes Harry shiver with anticipation. Just as Draco begins to unbutton his shirt, a ball of white fluff barrels into the room and jumps up in an attempt to get on the bed. “That bloody _dog_ , I’m going to kill it.” 

“You’ll do no such thing.” Harry picks up Lady and puts her in his lap, cuddling her close until she settles and nips playfully at his fingers. “Don’t listen to him, gorgeous. He’s just annoyed because you’re cock-blocking him.”

“I’ll kill you too, while I’m at it.” Draco huffs and slips his shirt off and the sight of him makes Harry’s throat go dry. He trails his eyes over Draco’s lean torso and the definition in the crotch of his trousers which makes Harry’s mouth water. He knows Draco’s got a lot to offer in that department from the one time he managed to cup him through his trousers and run his fingers along the hard length, taking his time to savour every last inch. He imagines tasting Draco and seeing him naked – finally – and defending Lady suddenly seems a little less important. Harry knows from the smug look Draco’s giving him that he’s been busted and he gives Draco a slow smile, shrugging lightly as he continues to stroke Lady’s head.

“Time to put her to bed, maybe?”

“I’d say so. Why don’t you do that? I’ll be waiting here for you.”

“Okay.” Now eager to get his hands on Draco, Harry gets off the bed and takes Lady downstairs. He puts her in her bed and gives her a biscuit, petting her until she seems settled with her toys and cosy blankets. He closes the door behind him just to make sure they don’t get interrupted for a while, promising her he’ll be down later to let her out for a run in the garden. 

“Took you long enough.”

Harry closes the door to Draco’s room and stares, his words leaving him momentarily. Draco’s naked save for the light sheet covering his mid-section. He watches Harry with a look which sends heat curling through Harry’s body. He hovers in the doorway, unsure what step to take next as he takes in the low light from freshly lit candles and the soft music in the background. Of course Malfoy can play music in his posh Muggle flat. Not like Harry in Grimmauld Place with his squeaky floorboards and constantly furious house-elf.

“Romantic.” Harry nods at the candles and approaches the bed, perching on the edge.

“I try.” Draco stretches out a hand to Harry. “Take off those bloody trousers and get over here. I’m furious with you for making me wait while you put the dog to bed.” Draco doesn’t sound furious. He sounds amused and fond.

Harry unbuckles his trousers and tries to steady the slight tremble in his hands. With candles and mood-music, Harry feels off-kilter caught in Draco’s intense stare. 

“Better?” Harry folds the jeans and puts them with his t-shirt. He gets on the bed and shifts up so he’s on his side, facing Draco.

“Nearly there.” Draco runs his fingers along the elasticated waistband of Harry’s boxers. “It doesn’t seem fair that you get to keep those in if I’m naked, though.”

“I suppose not.” Turning slightly to hide his flushed cheeks, Harry lifts up enough to strip out of his pants. He pulls the sheets over and shifts closer to Draco. After the heat of the Muggle nightclub, Draco’s cool skin against his own is a shock. Taking a steadying breath, he moves closer.

“You have absolutely no idea, do you?” Draco shifts and lightly pushes Harry onto his back, moving over him and bracketing Harry’s head with his hands. He looks down at Harry as he rocks against him once, a slow slide which brings their bodies together and sends arousal thrumming through Harry’s veins. The heat and urgency returns with a flush of desire which overpowers Harry’s nerves. He runs his hands over Draco’s back, feeling the bumps of his spine under his fingertips.

“I might not have done this before but I think I have some idea how it works, thanks.” Harry frowns at Draco.

“I didn’t mean that, idiot.” Draco rolls his eyes and then dips his head to capture Harry’s lips in his own. “You have no idea what you do to me. What you’ve always done to me.”

“Good stuff, I hope?”

Draco laughs against Harry’s lips, the sound warming Harry from his head to his toes. “Most of the time. Not always. Sometimes you’re just infuriating beyond belief.” 

Harry grins and tugs Draco down into a heated kiss, wanting to feel him close again. “Sorry about that.” When he’s well-kissed his words are breathless, faltering things. Draco’s body is so firm and warm against his own and being able to stretch out and touch every last inch of him is something Harry never thought would happen. 

“Is there anything you want?” Draco mouths a line down Harry’s throat, lingering at his collarbone and then moving to his chest. He seems capable of speech even when he’s running his tongue over Harry’s nipple and pressing his hard heat against Harry’s leg. Harry’s not sure he’s capable of saying _anything_ with Draco’s mouth leaving a damp trail towards his cock.

“ _Everything_.”

“Greedy.” Draco smiles against Harry’s skin.

“I want…” Harry really _does_ want everything but he’s not sure whether he’s going to last long enough to do it all this first time. So he thinks really hard about what he wants most of all and as Draco continues his maddening kisses, Harry tugs lightly at Draco’s hair. “I know what I want.”

“Oh?” Draco looks up, his eyebrows raised.

“Whatever you want, I think. I want you to…do what you want to me.” Harry shifts and spreads his legs a little, the heat in his cheeks intensifying. “Whatever you want.” His voice dips into a whisper. “ _Please_.”

Draco swallows, his throat bobbing as he looks at Harry. “That’s a bit of a dangerous thing to offer.”

“Not really.” Harry shakes his head. “Trust me, there are more dangerous things.”

“Like Hippogriffs.”

Harry laughs, his nerves easing. “Yeah, like Hippogriffs. They’re terrifying.”

Draco huffs but he doesn’t look angry. He shifts to give Harry a kiss and when he starts speaking his voice is low and seductive. “I bet you want me to tell you what I’m doing, too. How good you look, all stretched out and eager. How tight you feel when I’m fucking you.”

“Fuck, _yes_.” Harry finds he really _does_ want Draco to say all of those things, the words making his head spin.

“Put your arms above your head, Harry. Keep them there. No touching.”

With a low grumble, Harry puts his arms over his head. He’s not bound – not even close – but he still feels more exposed than before as the motion leaves him stretched out and completely unable to stop Draco’s ministrations unless he chooses to move out of his position. He doesn’t want to move. He wants to follow Draco’s instructions to the letter. He wants to-

“Malfoy!” Harry arches up with a groan when Draco takes Harry’s prick into the back of his throat, sucking him firmly into his mouth. The sensation of Draco’s mouth and the heat of his tongue against Harry’s cock is nearly too much and Harry has to clutch onto the railings in the headboard to stop himself from coming. “ _God_.”

Draco looks up, meeting Harry’s eyes. There’s a smile on his lips and then he’s focusing on Harry again, taking him deep and sliding off until Harry’s writhing in place and right on the edge. When Draco pulls off Harry and flicks his wand with a murmured spell, Harry can’t speak. He has to take a moment to catch his breath, deep gulps of it as he settles back on the bed. He wants to drop his hand to palm himself as Draco slicks his fingers but he knows he can’t move.

“Still with me?” Draco looks pleased with himself and he pushes Harry’s legs apart, rubbing slick fingers against Harry’s hole.

“Yeah. Just about.” Harry flexes his fingers and grips the headboard tighter as Draco slides one finger inside Harry. The movement is smooth, the passage eased by the slick lube covering Draco’s fingers. “Good, it’s…”

“You’re so fucking lovely.” Draco sounds almost reverent and he slides another finger in alongside the first. “Have you fucked yourself, Harry? Did you ever use your fingers and think about me?”

Harry groans because that’s…personal. He shakes his head and then Draco’s fingers push and slide inside him and he’s seeing stars. He almost drops his hand to reach for Draco until he remembers his instructions and he clenches his hands tightly around the rails. “Yeah, I might have done.” His words sound thick and unfamiliar, his heart pounding in his chest and his body rocking back onto Draco’s hand.

“That’s it.” Draco sounds surprised, as if Harry’s reaction is unexpected somehow. He pushes Harry’s legs wider and when Harry blinks his eyes open he can see Draco watching his own hand as he fingers Harry, his gaze alternating between Harry’s body and his face. The sight of Draco’s eyes blown wide with arousal and the way he slides his tongue over his lips nearly makes Harry see stars all by itself. Then Draco adds a third finger and he’s really _moving_ now. He doesn’t take the same painstaking care he did with the first finger. Instead he pushes his fingers hard into Harry’s body, searching for the angle that makes Harry quiver and cry out. When he gets it he keeps hitting it again and again until Harry’s mumbling Draco’s name over and over. He wants to see Draco’s face but he can’t ask for it and instead he lets out a sound which is almost a whine.

“So _fucking_ good for me.” Draco’s voice is rough and he comes up to kiss Harry of his own accord, his hand still working between them. He covers Harry’s face with kisses, his breath damp and hot as he kisses Harry with a familiar urgency. His breath leaves his lips in heavy puffs of air and Harry’s name falls between them as with a final twist and push of Draco’s hand, Harry’s arching beneath him and coming in thick stripes over his belly. When Draco slips his fingers out of Harry, he’s almost bereft even though he’s sensitive enough to hurt. 

“I didn’t…I couldn’t…”

“It's fine. Perfect.” Draco’s lips seek out Harry’s until they’re kissing, slow and searching. Eventually Draco pulls back and he shifts up Harry’s body. He rubs the tip of his cock against Harry’s lips and slides his hand along the base of it, bucking slowly into his own fist. “Have you done this before?”

“Sucked cock?” Harry can’t think a polite way to put it and he gives Draco a sheepish smile, his body still humming with pleasure and his syllables lazy and post-orgasmic. He’s surprised he can speak at all after that, his body still clenching with pleasure at the memory of Draco’s fingers buried deep inside him. “Yeah, but not often and never yours. I’ve thought about yours. I wished you’d let me, that night…”

“Me too.” Draco gives Harry a rueful smile. “You know why I didn’t?”

_“Let me suck you off, Malfoy. Please. Want to make you feel good.”_

_Draco jerks in Harry’s arms and he kisses him soundly before pulling away, his cheeks hot red. “No, I can’t.”_

_“You _can_.” Harry reaches for Draco’s belt with a groan and tugs him closer. “Come on.”_

_“Next time if you want. Get on your knees for me next time.”_

_Draco disappears into the night and Harry’s left warm and sticky in his jeans, staring into the empty darkness for the last time._

“No idea.” Harry licks his lips and lets his tongue run over the tip of Draco’s cock, tasting the salty pre-come.

“I came when you said you wanted to make me feel good.” Draco’s lips quirk into a small smile and his cheeks take on a light flush of colour. “I ran away because Harry Potter made me come in my pants by telling me he wanted to please me.”

Harry sucks in a breath. “What about the sucking you off part?”

Draco laughs, low in his throat. “That helped, but it was definitely the part about wanting to make me feel good. I liked hearing it. From you, in particular.”

“I’m glad it was that and not something else.” Harry shifts in place and he uncurls his fingers for a moment. “Can I move my hands?”

Draco nods. “If you like.”

Harry furrows his brow and he shakes his head, his voice steadier now. “What do _you_ want?” Part of him wants to add a _Sir_ there, but he’s not sure how Draco would feel about that and he doesn’t want to spoil things.

“I want you to move them.” Draco’s giving Harry a quizzical look, heat in his gaze. 

Harry shifts his hands to Draco’s backside and shuffles up. He pulls him closer so he has a better grip. He flicks his tongue over the head of Draco’s cock again, kissing over the length of him. He licks the underside of Draco’s cock and up to suck at the tip. He _worships_ it with slow kisses and licks to the tip and the sides, taking Draco deeper into his mouth with a contented sigh. He pulls back for a moment and he looks up at Draco. “I do, you know. I want to make you feel good. I want to make you come so hard you forget your own name. I want to know everything you like so I can figure out how to make you do that.”

Draco slides his fingers through Harry’s hair and his lips part as his eyes shutter closed. He swallows and Harry watches his throat work. “You’re such a good boy. You’re already making me feel good. Take me…take me nice and deep, Harry. As deep as you can.”

And that’s different. Now Harry’s a _good boy_ and Draco’s giving him commands. It makes his cock twitch and sends a shudder of pleasure through his body. Draco’s hand twists in Harry’s hair and he’s pushing into Harry’s mouth, sitting up for better leverage. Harry groans around Draco and focuses on relaxing his throat, taking Draco as deep as he can manage until his eyes water and his mouth is slick with saliva. With a groan, Draco watches Harry. He tugs at Harry’s hair to pull him back for a moment to let him catch his breath and then he pushes forward again in a slow slide, into the back of Harry’s throat. The way Draco takes such easy control makes Harry’s body respond to every slow slide with shivers of pleasure. He keeps his lips wrapped around Draco’s cock and moves with the rhythm he sets until Draco’s fucking the back of Harry’s throat, two hands tight in Harry’s hair. 

Harry’s eyes are watering and his lips are swollen when Draco comes without warning, spilling into the back of Harry’s throat. He swallows and slides off Draco only when Draco’s grip eases and he can pull back to catch his breath.

“Was that okay?” Harry’s startled to find his voice is rough and hoarse.

“It was horrible, Potter. I didn’t enjoy it one bit.” Draco speaks around a yawn and he moves off Harry, tugging the sheets up around his neck. He stretches his arm out and beckons Harry close. “Now come here, you pillock.”

With a grin, Harry shifts close to Malfoy and curls against him.

“Malfoy?”

“Yes, Potter?”

“Thanks for tonight.”

“You’re welcome. Potter?”

“Yes, Malfoy?”

“You sound good when your throat’s been well fucked. Let's do this more often.”

Harry laughs and he bites Malfoy’s shoulder, lightly. “Will you fuck me with your fingers again?”

“Mmhm.” Malfoy presses back against Harry, his voice sleepy and amused. “Fuck you with something else too, if you let me get some sleep.”

Harry can’t argue with that. He settles next to Malfoy, burrowing into the comfortable pillows and sighs contentedly. He gives an experimental snuffle, rubbing his cheek against the pillow. His cheeks heat and he stops his motions, closing his eyes.

“Potter?” Malfoy sounds more awake now, his tone hesitant. Harry hopes Draco didn’t hear him snuffling into the pillow. “You know, if you happen to have a free day tomorrow we can try some things. Whatever you want.”

Harry swallows and he curls closer to Malfoy. “Yeah. Maybe.”

As he drifts into a sated sleep he can’t help but notice how well they fit together, even when they’re sleeping.

*

When Harry wakes up in the morning, Draco’s side of the bed is empty and cool. He turns on his front and breathes in until he can catch the scent of Draco on the bedding. He’s just coming round and adjusting to the sunlight when he hears the clatter of paws against the wooden floor and Draco muttering something rude under his breath.

“Malfoy?” Harry sits up, rubbing his eyes. He gives Malfoy a grin as he puts Lady on the bed. She bounds over the rumpled sheets to lick enthusiastically at Harry’s face.

“Morning.” Draco perches on the end of the bed. His hair is damp and he’s clearly just freshly showered. “She wanted to see you. I wasn’t good enough, apparently. She kept whining and it was starting to bother me.”

“ _She_ wanted to see me?” Harry raises his eyebrows and Malfoy flushes.

“Well I certainly didn’t. You snore and hog the duvet.”

“Liar.” Harry laughs into Lady’s fur and she paws at him, barking happily.

“Did you have plans for today?” Draco sounds casual, but Harry knows better. He looks up.

“I thought we had plans didn’t we?” He reaches for Draco who shifts closer. “Aren’t you going to say good morning?”

“Thought I already did.” Draco moves closer nevertheless and kisses Harry, slow and sweet. He tastes like coffee and his hand clenches in Harry’s hair. Harry’s always horny in the morning and today he feels a familiar lazy curl of arousal settle in his belly.

“Mmm, that’s better.”

“Incorrigible.” Draco picks Lady up and puts her on the floor. Clearly disinterested in Harry now, she bounds off into another room. Draco pushes the duvet to one side to expose Harry to the soft morning light. He takes his time stroking his fingers down Harry’s chest and stares at Harry’s cock which is now fully hard, jutting against his belly. “Are you always this delectable in the morning?”

“Delectable?” Harry bites back a laugh and raises his eyebrows at Draco. “I’m not a chocolate éclair.”

“No.” Draco smirks and he runs his fingers along the line of Harry’s cock in a maddening fashion, stroking his thumb over the tip. “Just as delicious, though.”

“Mmm.” Harry tries to formulate proper words but fails entirely when Draco circles his cock, stroking slowly. Harry puffs out a ragged breath and bucks into Draco’s fist. “Don’t tell me you don’t get hard in the morning.”

“Maybe.” Draco shifts next to Harry and watches him, his tongue flicking over his lips. The way Draco looks at Harry is surprisingly intimate and he uses his free hand to brush Harry’s hair back from his face. “Some of us wake up earlier than others, though.”

“ _Some of us_ were having a nice lie in after a night dancing and shagging.” Harry moans and it’s embarrassingly breathy. “Don’t tell me you don’t appreciate a lazy Sunday in bed.” He unbuttons Draco’s shirt until he can push his fingers against Draco’s skin, tracing the lines of his torso.

“It depends who’s in my bed.” Draco shrugs out of his shirt and squeezes the base of Harry’s cock, sucking at a spot on his neck and sitting back to admire his handiwork. “I could probably be persuaded.”

Harry laughs and he runs his fingers to Draco’s belt, hoping to get Draco as turned on as he is. He presses a kiss to Draco’s damp hair and huffs slightly, bucking into Draco’s fist. “You’re all clean. I wanted to blow you in the shower.”

Draco groans and he captures Harry’s lips in a fierce kiss. “God, Harry.” He takes Harry’s hand with the one that isn’t working over Harry’s prick and pushes it from his belt onto the bulge in his trousers. “Next time. Now get me off.”

The instruction sends a shiver of pleasure through Harry and he unzips Draco’s trousers until he’s got a good angle. “Bloody tight trousers.” Breathless, Harry matches Draco’s slow pace.

“Let me just…” Draco groans and breaks away from Harry long enough to kick off his trousers and pants, tugging his shirt off completely. He’s back on Harry with remarkable speed, kissing him until they’re both panting into the kiss.

“I could get used to waking up like this.” Harry squeezes Draco’s cock and murmurs the spell every wizard worth his wanking salt quickly learned. The manoeuvre makes Draco shudder with pleasure as the slick sound of Harry’s hand working over him fills the quiet room, mingling with their slow breathing.

“You like it slick?”

“Mmm, yeah.” Harry groans with pleasure when Draco murmurs the same spell and the slide of Draco’s hand is instantly eased by the cool, slick lube.

“Messy.” Draco sounds amused, nipping at Harry’s ear and kissing along the column of his throat.

“ _Filthy_ ,” Harry agrees. He still can’t quite believe he’s in Malfoy’s bed talking about his wanking preferences, his toes nearly curling from the pleasure coursing through him at Draco’s touch. “Yeah, that’s…” With a low murmur of Draco’s name, Harry comes and spills over Draco’s hand. 

“Fuck, Harry.” Draco slides his hands into Harry’s hair, not seeming to care that one is slick with lube and Harry’s come. He urges Harry into a deep kiss and Harry kisses back, dizzily. That’s what showers are for, he supposes. He’s still kissing Draco and moving his hand over him quickly, when Draco murmurs Harry’s name against his lips and spills over his hand.

“Morning.” Feeling a bit like the cat that got the cream, Harry stretches and yawns, watching Draco as he cleans himself off with a flick of his wand and reaches for his trousers. “I should shower.”

“Do. There’s coffee and help yourself to clothes.” Draco gives Harry a look. “Not the Armani, Potter.”

Harry laughs and shakes his head. “I think your posh suits are safe.”

Draco rolls his eyes heavenward and sighs. “Yes. I expect they are.”

*

When Harry finally makes his way downstairs in a plain t-shirt and his own jeans, freshened up with a cleaning charm, Malfoy’s pouring over some complicated looking figures in the weekend _Prophet_. He’s put glasses on to read and the sight of him looking elegant and casual sends Harry’s heart beat into overdrive. 

“There’s fresh coffee. The elves found out you’re the one I’m entertaining so breakfast is…ridiculous.” 

“You’re entertaining me?” Harry raises an eyebrow at Draco, who smirks in response.

“You seemed pretty entertained.”

“Oh sod off.” Harry laughs and Draco rolls his eyes, gesturing to the pile of delicious pastries, shining and plump in the morning sun. There are bagels and thick slices of toasted bread with enough eggs and bacon to feed a family of six. Harry’s eyes widen as he stares at the food. “I’m never going to eat all of that.”

“That’s fine, we can use magic to keep things fresh. I’ll bring the extra pastries to the Ministry tomorrow. Perhaps Dawlish can fill up on those instead of stealing your sandwiches.”

Harry piles his plate full of the delicious food because he really is ravenous. The fact that Draco remembers his story about the sandwiches is more endearing than it has any right to be. He takes a seat at the table and reaches for the sports section of the paper so he can peruse the Quidditch scores. Not that the Canons are doing anything to write home about. He’s got Ron to thank for getting him invested in a team that seems to make more mistakes than Harry did in his potions classes. 

“You’re going to the Ministry tomorrow?”

“I’ve got business with Shacklebolt.” Draco sips his coffee, the steam clouding his glasses for a moment. “I said I’d come in first thing.” His words are casual but there’s a hint of trepidation when he speaks. Harry wonders if Draco’s really as confident going into the Ministry these days as he pretends to be. He thinks of Ron talking about Malfoy _swaggering_ and knows enough of Draco by now to suspect that’s largely false bravado. 

“Oh.” Harry takes a forkful of eggs and he studies Draco. “Want to go in together?”

“You don’t mind?” 

“Why would I?” Harry shrugs. “We’re going to the ball together on Saturday, people might as well get used to it.” He winces. “Although I really should give Ron a heads up.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” Draco pulls a face. He slides off his glasses as he watches Harry eat, the paper forgotten. “We’re something people need to get used to?”

Harry hums around his forkful of eggs. “No idea. We’re _something_. Besides, you’re the one that didn’t want any hiding. I’m not suggesting we do an interview with Magical Interiors and start planning our Bonding ceremony if that’s what you’re worried about. But I don’t really care if people see us together and want to speculate.”

“You don’t have any of your things here.” Draco looks amused. “What about your broom? Don’t you need to be in official robes?”

“I’ve got my Auror stuff at work, not that I need it for filing. I don’t wear robes during the day. I’m usually in jeans.”

“Of course you are.” Draco’s tries and fails to hide his pleased smile. “I suppose I can put up with you for one more night. Besides, you’re right about Saturday. We should probably avoid giving the country’s brightest and best coronaries.”

Harry chuckles. “It’s not going to be that bad.”

“Of course it is.” Draco tuts under his breath. “I bet your friends are going to think I’ve put you under Imperius. They’ll probably have you checked over for horrible curses.”

“They won’t.” Harry shakes his head at Malfoy, puffing his chest out. “Besides, Imperius never worked that well on me.”

Draco stares and then laughs. “Why am I not surprised? Of course Harry Potter’s impervious to Unforgivables.”

“Not all of them, I’m afraid. Just the one.” Harry polishes off his eggs and puts lashings of marmalade on another piece of toast, taking a generous bite.

“You did rather famously survive the Killing Curse too, Potter.” Draco raises his eyes heavenward. “I’m not surprised you have people falling in love with you left, right and centre. They probably want to know your secrets.”

“I don’t share those with just anyone.” Harry winks at Malfoy and he’s rewarded with a heated look, as Draco’s eyes travel along the length of Harry’s body making him warm.

“It’s all about knowing how to distract you enough to get them out of you.” Draco’s voice is that same low, seductive thing that sends a rush of heat through Harry. “I’m working on it.”

“Not doing a bad job of it, either.” Harry finishes his toast and sits back, patting his stomach. “The rum and coke helped.”

“Booze and scrambled eggs. The way to Harry Potter’s heart.” Draco helps Harry clear away the table, pouring two more cups of coffee and casting spells over the mountains of remaining food to keep them fresh for the next day. 

“It takes a bit more than that.” Harry reaches for Draco’s hand and tugs him a bit closer, brushing his lips to Draco’s neck and breathing in his scent of him. “Besides, who said anything about my heart? I thought you were just interested in my cock.”

“And your arse.” Draco slides his hand over Harry’s lower back to make his point. “Come on, though. The heart’s always involved with you. Isn’t it?”

Harry shrugs, heat rising in his cheeks. “Perhaps. Don’t get too cocky, you haven’t made me fall in love with you just yet.”

“Give me time.” Draco sounds exceedingly confident and he pulls Harry closer until their lips meet in a slow, marmalade-sweet kiss. 

“What about your heart?”

“I’m a Malfoy, Potter. I don’t have a heart.”

“Of course not.” Harry grins at Draco. He doesn’t believe him for a moment. He puts his hand over the spot on Draco’s chest where he can feel the light pulse of Draco’s heart beneath his skin. “Feels like it’s in good working order to me.” 

Draco lets out a non-committal grunt but he kisses Harry nevertheless. “You’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?”

“No idea. I haven’t really been with anyone long enough to find out." Harry runs his hands over Draco’s sides. "Why clouds?"

"What?" Draco looks a bit startled at the change of topic. "What about them?

"You and your cloud shapes. What is it about clouds?"

"Oh." Draco looks upwards, thinking. When he smiles it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "They're transient. They're constantly changing shape and breaking apart. Sometimes they're there and then the next time you look up, there's just blue sky and blank space where the clouds used to be."

The answer leaves Harry cold and he takes in Draco's strange, sad smile. He has the strangest desire to hold on to Draco, to keep him right there in Harry's arms. "I'm not sure I like that," he says.

"No?" Draco shakes himself. "It doesn't matter. It's just a stupid game."

"Okay." Harry knows he isn't going to get anything else from Draco at the moment. He thinks of his extensive wardrobe and the blue velvet robes Harry had admired the night before. Blue, like the sky at midnight with silver detail reminding Harry of galaxies and stars. “I like those blue robes of yours. I don’t suppose you fancy wearing them to the ball?”

Draco huffs with laughter, his fingers curling pleasantly in Harry’s hair. “Are you giving me fashion advice?”

“Not _advice_. Just making a request.”

“Hmm.” Draco slides a hand over Harry’s cheek and urges him into a slow kiss, before pulling back. His eyes are sparkling and his smile is languid and teasing. “Can I dress you in that case?”

“I suppose.” Harry’s breath hitches a little and he presses close to Draco. “Nothing too slutty.”

Draco kisses Harry again, murmuring against his lips. “Pity. I was thinking collar and leash, myself.”

Harry’s breathing falters and he pushes against Draco’s chest so he can look into his eyes. His mouth is dry and his heart hammers in his chest. “What?”

“No?” Draco raises his eyebrows at Harry. “I’m teasing. Obviously.”

“Yeah, but…” The pattering of Harry’s heart doesn’t quite slow and he swallows around the lump in his throat.

“Bit too close to the bone?” Draco’s lips brush over Harry’s ear and then he pulls away with a sigh, smoothing his hair and gesturing to the table. “Do you trust me?” A shadow crosses Draco’s face and even though his face is schooled into a carefully neutral expression, Harry can tell his answer’s important.

_I’m desperate for someone who knows everything about me and still trusts me enough to let me take control._

Harry swallows because he’s not sure he _does_. He’s getting there. He’s not sure he trusts anyone not to laugh at him for things he wants. He’s not sure he ever will. Whatever clouds his fantasies on those lonely nights at Grimmauld Place, he’s never let himself be truly vulnerable to anyone. He’s never exposed himself completely to another person. Most of the time he just does what he has to. Goes to work, fights the good fight and laughs just loudly enough that nobody thinks to question whether he’s anything other than _fine_.

“I’m…getting there. Give me time?”

If Draco’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it. He exhales slowly, rubbing the palms of his hands against his thighs. “It’s a start. You’ll need to talk to me at some point. I can’t read your mind when it comes to things like that.”

“I don’t know if I can.” Harry says, honestly. “It’s too difficult. Sometimes I can’t even admit what I want to myself. What if I let go and everything falls apart?” The _what if you’re not going to help put me back together again_ sits unspoken between them. He folds his hands and twists them, his skin hot and itchy. He scuffs his toe on the marbled kitchen floor and doesn’t meet Draco’s eyes. 

“Do you think I’d let you dive in head first then watch you drown?” Draco’s tone is clipped and cross.

“No.” Harry doesn’t think that. Not really, but it doesn’t stop him from being scared of it. Draco and his transient clouds. Harry's not sure he can trust him not to leave again, when they've barely even begun. “We’ve never been friends, you and me. Some of the stuff is…ridiculous.”

Lady’s barking distracts Draco and he kneels by her, rubbing behind her ears and feeding her a treat. Harry watches as Draco fusses over her, the sight making him warm and fond. 

“You know, there are people that like this. It’s not that peculiar.” Draco’s voice is low and he isn’t looking at Harry.

“Shut up.” Harry’s skin is hotter than ever, his fingers scratching at his palm as his heart quickens and his chest is so tight he can hardly breathe. “It’s not…shut up, please.”

“Harry, you’re…” Draco looks up and meets Harry’s eyes. “I want to _ruin_ you for anyone else.” Draco’s voice takes on a fierce, possessive note. “Do you get it? I want to give you everything you want because it’s the best way to keep you. I don’t think you’ve got a clue how fucking desirable you are and as soon as you work it out, you’ll find something better than a Death Eater. A _Malfoy_. So I’ve got no fucking intention of _laughing_. I probably need this even more than you do.”

Harry stares at Draco. His cheeks flush with bright red spots and his eyes flash as he glares at Harry. His jaw works and he looks almost shocked as if he hadn’t planned to say any of that out loud.

“You’re wrong,” Harry says.

“Am I?” Draco sounds tired now, turning back to Lady.

“You’re wrong about me finding someone better.” Harry’s voice falters. “I’ve not found anyone yet, have I? I haven’t found anyone half as interesting and you weren’t even around. You behaved like a wanker and I still couldn’t stop thinking about snogging you in the shadows.”

“And the rain.” Draco looks back at Harry. “Don’t forget the rain.”

“How could I? Bloody freezing. Who thought kissing in the rain was romantic, anyway?”

“You did. You said it was in all the Muggle songs. You said-”

“I said _come outside with me, Malfoy. I want to snog you in the rain until everything else disappears._ ” Harry keeps his gaze fixed on Draco. “I remember.” Harry swallows. “You always made it disappear. Nobody else could.”

“Nobody else got you half as drunk.” Draco snorts but he doesn’t sound cross or tired anymore. He sounds pleased, tentative and hopeful. 

“I wasn’t that pissed.” Harry looks away. “You won’t keep me by doing things you don’t want to do.”

“I know. For the record, I'm not planning to do anything I don't know I'll enjoy.”

It's still difficult for Harry to believe that other people might want the same things. It still seems like such an odd thing to crave. “If we do anything like that, it’s not going to magically bind us together. We’ll still fight all the time, you’ll think I’m messy and ridiculous, I’ll think you’re obnoxious and we’ll disagree on everything.”

“Probably,” Draco concedes. He’s smiling. “You do have terrible taste.”

“In men, as well as clothes.” Harry reaches for Draco to let him know he’s joking. “Apparently.”

“Piss off.” Draco comes willingly, anyway. Their hands twine and they watch each other for a moment. “I’m not going to laugh or leave you alone or do anything you don’t want.”

“I know.” Harry does know. “It’s not about you. I can’t really understand why I want it myself, so it’s difficult to expect anyone else to understand.” He squeezes Draco’s hand. “For the record, there’s nothing wrong with being a Malfoy. Turns out I quite like them. One, in particular.”

“I’ll let my father know.” Draco presses his lips to Harry’s neck, sucking on that spot that makes Harry weak at the knees.

“It’s your mum, actually. I still think your dad’s a prat.”

“Noted. I can’t say I disagree, these days.” Draco pulls back and he brushes Harry’s hair from his forehead, giving him a half-smile. “Does this mean you’ll talk about it? This puppy thing?”

Harry’s cheeks flame and he searches Draco’s eyes for a hint of malice and humour but he finds nothing there but hope. He takes a jagged breath and nods, slowly.

“Okay, then.” His voice wavers and he steadies it as best he can. “Okay.”

*

“Do you think I could just…sit?” Harry clears his throat and gestures at the currently empty armchair in the living room.

“In the chair?” Draco’s brow furrows.

“No. You should sit in the chair.” Harry’s skin is on fire, heat clawing its way through his body. He rakes a hand through his hair and is sure his trembling fingers don’t go unnoticed by either of them. “I’ll sit on the floor.”

Draco’s breath catches and then he brushes his lips to Harry’s cheek, breath peppermint cool. “Okay.” He sits on his armchair and Harry bites back a groan at the sight of Draco – long limbed and elegant, legs crossed as he _tap taps_ his fingers on the opulent leather. There’s something about the way Draco looks that leaves Harry dizzy with want. He can sense the heat sliding from his erratically beating heart up his neck and into his cheeks. The look Draco gives him is like his lazy drawl – slow and seductive.

“Well?” Draco taps his foot and folds his hands in his lap. “Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, I…” Harry swallows because there’s a niggling part of him that still expects Draco to laugh. What if the _Prophet_ got wind of this? Harry would be forced to leave the country. He couldn’t stand it if anyone knew. He twists his hands together. They’re clammy and he has to wipe them on his jeans. He can’t stop looking at Draco and Draco’s still _staring_ with that strange, unreadable look on his face.

“Come on, then.” Softer, now. Draco’s lips tease into a smile and he reaches out a hand, his palm tilted upwards in silent invitation. “There’s a good boy.”

The room is too small and it’s suddenly difficult to breathe. Harry’s chest tightens and his heart hammers, a dull _thud, thud_ in his ears as a flash of desire tears through his body. As if he’s no longer in control of his limbs, Harry finds himself moving towards Draco like there’s an invisible force tugging him closer. He only hesitates for a moment before sinking to the floor, next to Draco’s feet and he closes his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe. _In, out. In, out._ Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“There.” Draco’s voice isn’t warm exactly, but he’s not laughing. There’s something fond and unfamiliar in his tone which warms Harry to the tips of his toes. “Comfortable?” He’s whispering now and his fingers brush through Harry’s hair. There’s something raw in the ragged syllables, as if this has the same powerful impact on Draco as it does on Harry. “I asked you a question.” Draco’s fingers find Harry’s chin and there’s no tremble in them. Harry feels nearly like he’s going to shake out of his skin but Draco’s fingers are cool and firm. It’s strangely reassuring. Draco tips Harry’s chin until their eyes meet. There’s a heartbeat and Harry swallows thickly around the lump in his throat.

“Malfoy, I…”

“No, Harry.” Harry doesn’t want to speak and Draco seems to know it, his fingers sliding from Harry’s chin to behind his ear until he’s rubbing lightly and _god_ that feels good. Harry bites back a moan as he nuzzles into Draco’s hand. His body is heavy with something that settles over him and makes him want to sleep – like he’s floating out of himself and the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground is the _scratch, scratch_ of Draco’s fingers through his hair. “Comfortable?” Draco asks again, his tone tentative and low.

“Ruff.” Harry says it quietly, barks it so softly he thinks he can dismiss it as a cough. Draco’s hand stills and for one moment, Harry thinks he’s going to laugh. He’s fully clothed but he’s never felt more naked, exposed and vulnerable. Strange, unfamiliar tears prick the backs of his eyes and it’s been so long since he’s cried but he thinks if he let the tears fall now it might never stop. 

Draco doesn’t laugh. After a moment, his hand is back in Harry’s hair and he’s stroking sure fingers through the thick strands of Harry’s hair. He moves back to scratch behind Harry’s ear then sweeps his fingers in a confident slide through Harry’s hair from root to tip. It’s so relaxing, Harry can’t help but nestle closer. His presses his hot cheek to Draco’s thigh and when his breath leaves him it’s a ragged, soft whine.

“That’s it, pup.” Draco’s voice is rough and slow, heavy with emotion. He works his fingers over Harry’s head and his voice is a low, cultured drawl which lulls Harry to somewhere between sleep and waking. “Good puppy.”

The words fill Harry with warmth, wave after wave flooding through him. He’s so _relaxed_ , he can’t remember the last time the tension seeped from his body like this. He can’t remember the last time he wasn’t surrounded by people or trying to block out the noise of his memories. They fade into the back of his mind, a dull ache which dissipates as Draco’s fingers continue working over his head and behind the back of his ear. The screams in his head stop. Silence doesn’t make Harry want to claw his way out of his own skin for the first time in ages. He sighs and Draco sighs.

The two jagged huffs of air mingle with a soft whine and a reverent whisper of Harry’s name.

*

When he comes down, Harry’s limbs are heavy and his mouth dry. A dull sense of shame claws at him, but Draco’s fingers scratch at his hair and relax him.

“Are you with me?” Draco sounds almost nervous, hesitating even as his fingers scratch soothingly along Harry’s scalp. His fingernails are blunt and the gentle sensation sends shivers through the length of Harry’s body.

“Just about.” Harry’s words come out clunky and heavy, as if he’s had too much beer. He takes a steadying breath and curls closer to Draco. He’d quite like to have a soft bed to curl in, wrapping his limbs around himself. The floor’s a little hard; all highly polished hardwood and posh, patterned rugs. 

“Maybe we’ll have to get you some…things.” Draco’s voice sounds far away, almost as if he’s in another room. His voice is gravel-rough and unexpected, when it’s usually so cool and smooth.

“Like what?” Harry’s tongue still feels too big for his mouth and he clutches onto Draco’s leg, wondering if he looks like a total idiot.

“When Lady’s good I give her treats.” Draco pauses. “She has toys, a bed.”

Harry’s throat works, his mouth dry. He wants it but he’s damned if he can say as much out loud. It’s so strange. Such a peculiar thing to need. “I…don’t know.”

“Harry.” Draco’s fingers are on Harry’s cheek, turning his face until their eyes meet. His cheeks are dusty pink and he looks rumpled and unsteady, as if he’s been the one on the floor barking like a puppy and whining at every touch and scratch. “I’d like to. I want to buy you things for when you're like this.”

That sends a rush of desire through Harry. He wants to please Draco, now more than ever. He knows it’s not something he’ll want every moment of the day, but the thought of having it on occasion leaves his skin prickling with heat which crawls up his neck and makes his face flame.

“This won’t be all the time?”

“No,” Draco agrees. He furrows his brow and appears to be thinking. “Perhaps we need a sign. Something both of us can recognise. Let me think about it. I’ll do some shopping in the meantime.”

“Oh.” Harry looks at his hands, twisted in his lap. “Do you want money?”

Draco snorts. “Christ, no. I’m a _Malfoy_ , Potter. I have enough money to buy a hundred pedigrees. I’m sure I can stretch to it.” His voice softens, the uncertainty returning. It’s oddly comforting to Harry that this is new to Draco too. “Unless you wanted to choose?”

The idea of walking round a store looking for dog toys and bedding makes Harry’s hand tremble and he shakes his head firmly. “No. Definitely not.”

“Well, it’s settled.” Draco scratches Harry’s head again. “Do you need a moment? I thought we might take Lady out later. If you’re still planning to stay?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods and closes his eyes, Draco’s thigh warm on his cheek. “I’m staying. A walk sounds good. Soon.”

“Okay.” Draco’s exhale is almost relieved, his fingers stroking through Harry’s hair and tugging at the strands. “No rush.”

Harry lets out a low _ruff_ of approval before he can stop himself. He’s rewarded with a light _pat, pat_ to the head and it feels so good. He closes his eyes and lets the waves of relaxation flood his body as he listens to the light sound of Draco’s pulse, focusing on breathing in and out, in and out.

*

It takes Harry a while to come back to himself and he’s quiet while Draco gets Lady ready for her walk, huffing when she keeps jumping up and he can’t quite get the lead attached. It’s only when they’re outside in the fresh air that Harry begins to feel more like himself again. He’s more relaxed than he’s been in ages and he actually feels happy. He stuffs his hands in his pocket after throwing Lady an oversized stick and laughing as she grapples with it before giving up when she spots a squirrel across the park.

“Thanks for earlier.” Harry’s determined to try to talk about things, even if his instinctive reaction is to clam up and change the subject to Quidditch or something. He’s a Gryffindor, after all. He's going to have to talk about it sometime and the park feels safe and familiar.

Draco raises his eyebrows and gives Harry a look. “You still think I’m doing something I don’t want to do?”

“I don’t know.” Harry shrugs and kicks at some leaves. “It seems like a bit of coincidence, us both being into that. It’s not exactly normal, is it?”

“I’m not sure there’s any such thing.” Draco wrinkles his nose and whistles for Lady, watching her as she comes bounding back in their direction. “My father would say the fact I like to suck cock isn’t normal, either and we're both interested in that.”

“He’s wrong,” Harry says, fiercely. A rush of sympathy makes him reach for Draco’s hand and squeeze it briefly. “You know he is.”

“Yes.” Draco turns his gaze on Harry. “So are you. I never thought you’d have anything in common with Father.”

Harry can’t help but shudder and he hopes Draco isn’t too offended. “Fine. Point taken.”

“Good.” Draco clips Lady’s lead back on her collar when they reach the road. They wait for the traffic to pass and then wander across, a couple of girls stopping to coo at Lady on the way. “You know puppies have a whole Muggle scene. There’s latex, masks and all sorts. Does any of that appeal?”

Harry’s aware of that, of course he is. He’s done his research. Still, he’s never really talked about it with anyone – least of all Malfoy.

“I know.” He thinks about being helped into a tight rubber suit and it doesn’t fill him with the same kind of warmth or giddy excitement as having his head scratched or the idea of curling up in a bed did earlier. “I don’t think I want that.”

“Okay. I think I like it best when you're Harry anyway.” Draco lets Lady run free again as they reach the next park. He looks around and uses his wand to clear up her mess, making sure there aren’t any Muggles in the vicinity. “Thank god for magic.”

Harry chuckles, trying to picture Draco picking up after Lady and imagining the distaste etched on his angular features. “Thank goodness.” He finds a more reasonably sized stick and throws it to Lady, ruffling her head when she brings it back and looks up at him, her head cocked to the side and her tongue out. 

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in other clothes?” Draco rakes his eyes over Harry, from head to toe.

“Maybe. Jeans aren’t brilliant for sitting around on the floor for ages.”

“Something looser perhaps.” Draco leers, giving Harry a wink. “Or nothing at all.”

Harry snorts with laughter, even as his cheeks heat. “Well, yeah. Maybe.”

“Really?” Draco’s eyes widen and he stares at Harry.

“Yeah. Is that weird?” Harry studies Draco’s face, but there’s no sign of judgment. 

“No, not at all. Just unexpected.” Draco’s lips tilt into a smile. “I’m certainly not going to object.”

“Can we talk about something else for a bit?” Harry’s starting to feel that same persistent niggle of shame tug at his belly and even if he knows Draco’s right about _normal_ , he wouldn’t mind feeling it for once. “Anything else.”

“If you like.” Draco tips his head back, his Adam’s apple working as he looks at the sky. He points at a cloud, soft against the grey early-evening sky. “That looks a bit like a Snitch. Don’t you think?”

“Does it?” All Harry can see is a cloud – its edges cotton-wool soft. He tilts his head to the side and squints. Perhaps those edges could be wings, stretching out against the sky like a blanket. The wind makes them flutter a little and in a heady rush, Harry’s back on his broom and the crowds are cheering and shouting his name. Malfoy’s next to him, his face twisted with displeasure. They’re neck and neck and neither one plans to slow down, their gloved fingers stretching out side by side. “I suppose it does a bit. Do you still play?”

“Rarely.” Draco doesn’t elaborate. Instead he points at another cloud, small and dark against the sky. “What about that one?”

Harry stares at it. The edges curl into the sky and if he looks for long enough all he can see are spells and stars. “That one…looks like battle.”

“Hmm.” Draco gives Harry a quick, sharp look. “Does it?”

“Can’t you see them?” Harry’s breath comes quicker, his hand instinctively going to the wand in his pocket. There’re so many people, too many dark robes. Death Eater becomes ally, ally becomes enemy. He just can’t tell anymore as he casts spells left, right and up into the blazing sky.

“Yes.” Draco’s voice is quiet, his slim fingers finding Harry’s. “I can see them too.”

Harry twines his fingers with Draco’s and they walk together as the sun sets around them.

*

They eat leftover pastries for supper, savouring the rich, buttery warmth. They’re just as good as Draco said they’d be, charmed fresh with magic. They share half a bottle of cool, crisp wine and talk about the Goblin strike at Gringotts. Lady gets a taste of their supper as well as a bowl of her own, before collapsing on her bed with a happy _woof_ , her tail wagging with a comforting _thud, thud_ against the bed.

They make their way upstairs and wash, getting ready for bed. Draco gives Harry some pyjama bottoms and they settle side by side in bed. It doesn’t take long for Harry to invade Draco’s space, lazy wine-drunk kisses becoming hot, heavy things – each stretching out longer than the last.

“Will you fuck me?” Harry holds his breath and pulls back to look at Draco. He’s rumpled, flushed and gorgeous. Harry’s heart flips in his chest and he presses closer, emboldened by the way Draco looks at him. He slides his hand between them and rubs Draco’s cock, biting back a groan as it hardens to the touch.

“Obviously.” Draco rolls his eyes but isn’t quick enough to hide the quick smile of delight which lights up his face. He takes Harry’s hand from his prick and rolls Harry onto his back, settling over him and keeping his hand pinned above his head. He kisses Harry with hard, biting kisses and licks and bites at the exposed skin on Harry’s neck and chest until Harry is pliant and ready in his arms.

“Come on, come on. Hurry up, will you?” Harry groans and arches under Draco, seeking friction on his cock.

“So impatient.” Draco’s voice is rough but he reaches for a wand and mutters a spell which leaves them both naked. He grabs the bottle from the previous night, slick fingers quick to find Harry’s hole. He presses against Harry, rubbing at first before pushing inside. He doesn’t take his time and the two fingers burn, but it feels fantastic. Harry’s already relaxed and eager for Draco. It’s not long before the push of Draco’s fingers inside his body doesn’t burn at all, his skin tingling with anticipation. Draco rubs his fingers inside Harry just enough to make him see stars and he finds himself grinding back against Draco’s hand, his breath rough and ragged.

“Fuck me, fucking hell.”

“Language, Potter.” Draco tries to sound cool and collected, but the way he pulls his fingers from Harry and rearranges them both gives him away. His voice is tight, his breath hot and heavy on Harry’s neck. When he pushes inside, the stretch is deliciously good and he murmurs Harry’s name over and over in his ear. It’s not _Scarhead_ , not _Potter_ , just _Harry, Harry, Harry_ in a cultured, half broken murmur. Draco begins to fuck Harry in earnest then, his hands bracketing Harry on the pillow and his hair falling over his forehead.

Harry reaches up, sliding his fingers through the loose hair which falls into Draco’s eyes and smoothing it back. He moves with Draco to the extent he can, shoving his free hand down between them to wrap around his cock. He keeps his other hand moving lightly over Draco’s skin. He traces the contours of his cheeks and then moves lower, sliding his finger through the place where beads of perspiration gather on Draco’s collarbone. He's such a contradiction. He's sharp in so many places but there's a way Draco looks at Harry sometimes which is soft and sweet - an unexpected moment of exposed emotion.

“Draco…” Harry’s words catch in his throat, his sentence half formed and not fully there even in his head. He thinks it’s _I missed you_. He hopes that Draco missed him too.

Draco seems to know Harry wants to say something. He looks like he wants to say something too, his lips forming words that never quite fall into the open space between them. Instead he wraps his hand around Harry’s, feeling him stroking himself and fucks into him harder. He pushes Harry’s leg back against his chest and bites back a groan, his features sharp and his lips tugging into an unexpected smile which seems to take him by surprise.

“You…” He doesn’t finish, instead he kisses Harry hard and increases the speed of his movements until Harry’s trembling on the edge and then pulsing into his own fist, coating his fingers with sticky warmth. It doesn’t take long for Draco to come, fucking Harry until it’s just too sensitive, just too good. He comes with a low moan, capturing Harry’s lips in a sloppy kiss which is more teeth, tongue and breathlessness than anything else.

After a moment collapsed on Harry, breathing into his neck, Draco rolls off him and stares at the ceiling. 

“I’d love a cigarette.”

“You smoke?”

“Used to, for a while.” Draco tilts his head to look at Harry, his gaze warm. “We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Yep. We’ve got to cart a load of pastries through London and give people the shock of their lives.”

“Nervous?” Draco slides his fingers down Harry’s chest and props himself up to look down at Harry.

Harry shrugs. “Nah. Not really. It’s about time I got myself a bloke. Hermione’s been on at me for ages.”

“That’s what I am, is it?” Draco looks amused. “Harry Potter’s _bloke_.”

“If you like.” Harry grins at Draco.

“There are worse things to be, I suppose.” Draco heaves a sigh and kisses Harry’s mouth, just at the corner. 

Harry drifts off to sleep shortly afterwards with Draco’s arm slung casually around him.

*

“What’s he up to, then?” Ron wipes his mouth with the back of his hand after making quick work of his pastry. He gives Draco a suspicious look. “Something horrible?”

“Not exactly.” Harry’s cheeks heat and he avoids meeting Ron’s gaze head on. He can’t help but ogle Malfoy in his posh suit, talking to Kingsley in muted tones. He shifts a little, the sensation of Draco inside him just that morning still a pleasant ache. Draco looks up and smirks at Harry, his gaze piercing. It’s as if he knows exactly what Harry’s thinking as he shifts from foot to foot. He probably does.

_“I’m going to make sure you feel me all day today. Tell me you want to. Tell me, Harry.”_

Bloody Malfoy and his citrus shampoo. Harry even _smells_ like him. He thinks Hermione might have noticed because she seems suspiciously…smiley. 

“Isn’t it time you boys stopped fighting with one another?” Hermione rolls her eyes. “It’s been years.” She gives Harry a bright smile. “Kiss and make up, won’t you?”

“Hermione.” Harry nudges her while Ron laughs.

“Hardly. Can you imagine?”

“I can, actually.” Harry mumbles it, more to his feet than Ron.

“What’s that?” 

“I said…” Harry looks up and he gives Ron a half smile, half grimace. “I might be able to imagine it. We’re going to the Ministry Bonding Equality Ball together.”

“Oh thank god for that.” Hermione gives Harry a hug while Ron stares at him, open-mouthed.

“Pull the other one. You hate Malfoy.”

“Not really.” Harry winces as the murmur in the room seems to quieten. He’s sure people can hear them and he’s probably red to the tips of his ears. “Keep it down, will you?”

“But…Malfoy?” Ron manages to lower his voice to a hiss. “Bloody hell. He’s just so…. _Malfoy_.”

“My ears are burning, Weasley.” Draco joins them right on cue, standing close enough to him that Harry can smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his body. It brings countless images to mind – of snogging in the rain, kneeling at Draco’s feet and having the best sex of his life. He shivers and edges closer to Draco, relaxing a little when Draco’s hand settles at the base of his spine. “I hope you’re not besmirching my good name.”

“As if there’s anything to besmirch.” Ron glares at Draco and then looks to Harry and back again. “If you think I’m going to be polite to you now, you can naff off.”

“Of course.” Draco rolls his eyes. “I’m shagging Potter because I’m just dying to get in your good books.”

Ron looks a bit green and Hermione hides her laugh behind a cough. 

“Do you have to?” Harry gives Draco a look. 

“Absolutely.” Draco looks smug. It would be insufferable, but Harry knows enough of Draco by now to know he’s not quite as at home in the Ministry as he might pretend to be.

“Did you get your stuff sorted with Kingsley?”

Draco shrugs. “Perhaps. We’ll see. I’ve got to see him again on Thursday. In the meantime, I have to pay a visit to Mother and Father. I’ll be away at the Manor for a few days.”

“Oh.” Harry steers Draco away out of Ron’s earshot for a moment. “So I won’t see you for a while?”

“Not unless you fancy eating supper with my father and lamenting the loss of the good old days.” Draco winces and he looks a little pale. “It’s only a couple of days.” He sounds casual, but there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice which gives him away. “Do you have plans for Thursday evening?”

“No plans.”

“I imagine Lady will be keen to see you.”

“Lady?” Harry raises his eyebrows and he’s delighted when Draco’s cheeks bloom pink.

“She’s a ridiculous dog. Far too easy with her affections.”

“Isn’t she, just?” Harry laughs and he squeezes Draco’s hand, not caring who sees. “Thursday, then. Around seven?”

“Yes.” Draco breathes out, relief etched on his face. “Seven sounds fine.”

Harry watches Draco leave and then makes his way back to Ron and Hermione, taking a pastry as he goes. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to have warm, buttery croissants without thinking of Malfoy. Probably not. He does have a tendency to occupy Harry’s thoughts, even when he’s not around.

“So, then. You and Malfoy?” Ron runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Blimey.”

Harry feels his stomach clench uncomfortably and he tries to read the expression in Ron’s eyes. “Is it okay? I mean, we’re okay, aren’t we?”

Ron rolls his eyes and takes a generous bite of Harry’s pastry before he hands it back. “Of course we are, you great tit.” His eyes light up. “By the way, I came up with a brilliant idea to catch Dawlish in the act.”

“In the act?” Harry’s brow furrows.

“Stealing your sandwiches, of course.” Ron’s militant when it comes to lunch. He slings his arm around Harry’s shoulder and steers him into the corridor. “Here’s what we’re going to do…”

*

By the time Thursday comes round, the itch on Harry’s skin has intensified to an almost unbearable level. The nightmares are back with full force and most of Thursday passes in a fog of meetings, paperwork and strategising. He’s finally able to leave, and in his tired state he almost steps into the Floo before he remembers Malfoy’s Muggle house probably isn’t on the Floo network. With a sigh, he strips off his robes and uses the Ministry bathrooms to shower and change. The water freshens him up a little and although he doesn’t look terribly smart, his tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt are warm and comfortable.

He tugs a hoodie over his head and makes his way out of the Ministry until he’s somewhere secluded enough to Apparate from. The clouds are thick and heavy in the sky, suiting Harry's mood. There aren't any shapes forming in the sky, just an implacable wall of grey and air that smells like rain. He runs his hand over the mossy wall before he Apparates and the rough brick against his palm takes him back to nights in Soho and brilliant, heart-stopping kisses. Two boys like clouds, there for a night and then gone. Just blank space and a brick wall left behind to gather moss. Harry's starting to see why Malfoy likes staring at the sky so much.

It takes him a while to walk from the secluded patch of common to Draco's flat and by the time he gets there, Harry's mood hasn't improved.

“You look like shit,” Draco says when he opens the door. “Not sleeping again?”

“Not much.” Harry pulls a face at Draco. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Don’t worry, Potter. Your worst is still preferable to some else’s best.” Draco stands aside to let Harry come into the house. There’s a warmth to the place and the smell of something delicious cooking on the stove.

“House-elves working hard again?”

“Of course.” Draco leads Harry into the living room, his back to him as he pours a couple of drinks. “Wine?”

“Thanks.” Harry takes a glass and sips it, feeling strangely awkward. Lady’s nowhere to be seen and he could have done with her bounding up and pawing at him now. He just wants to bury his face in her fur and close his eyes for a while. He’s so fucking tired. Part of him wondered if he and Malfoy might just get straight to the snogging, but that doesn't seem likely at the moment. He could do with being taken hard against a wall or pushed over the nearest surface. He’s not sure he’s got it in him just yet to talk about his week.

“I went shopping.” Draco seems slightly out of sorts too, his expression unreadable. He sips his wine and then he flicks his wand. The room shifts and complex concealment charms fall away. There’s a large dog bed on the floor where a posh mahogany table used to sit. There are toys in the bed and a leash hanging on the wall just to the left of it.

Harry swallows a large gulp of his wine and he stares at the bed, heat pooling in his stomach. “Bloody hell, Malfoy. You haven’t even said hello properly.”

The tension seems to leave Draco’s shoulders and he crosses the room in a few strides. He buries his head in Harry’s neck, close enough that Harry can feel the rhythmic beat of his heart. “My father’s an ass. I’m a disgusting queer and he doesn’t want to know me.”

Harry swallows again. “I slept for about an hour last night. Two, the night before. I spent three hours staring at a photo of Sirius and Remus and for a moment, I thought they might have been in the room. I’d rather be haunted by the dead than spend a night alone.”

Draco shivers in Harry’s arms, holding him closer. They curl around each other, eyes closed and voices rough and jagged. “My mother wants me to go away. She thinks I should have some distance from London. She’s found the perfect witch for me to marry.”

Harry runs his hands over Draco’s back and growls out a low, fierce _no_. “I don’t even remember today. I think I fucked something up, Kingsley had a bit of a moment. Reckons I need a holiday.”

“I just want to not think.” Draco moves back, finally. His eyes meet Harry’s. His face is slim and pale and he looks tired too. “It would be nice, to just pretend none of it matters.”

Harry nods, the heat in his belly intensifying. “Yeah, I…I think I’m going to crawl out of my skin. Sometimes my skin itches and I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Draco flicks his tongue over his lips. “Don’t you?”

Harry shrugs. “I wore a tracksuit.”

Draco’s lips twitch into a smile, finally. “I noticed. It’s dreadful.”

A burst of laughter leaves Harry. “Thanks ever so.”

“Want to take it off?” Draco sounds hesitant, unsure.

“Okay.” Harry moves away from Draco and strips slowly. He folds his clothes because Draco’s house is tidy and it seems polite. He leaves them on the sofa and looks briefly at the bed, then at the armchair. “What now?”

Draco takes a moment to look at Harry, his face shadows and candlelight. He sits on the armchair after the silence stretches between them, electric and warm. “Sit.” He doesn’t say _would you like to sit down_ or _kneel_. He just says _sit_ and it sends a rush of need through Harry.

Harry begins moving towards Draco, but then something stops him. It doesn’t feel right. It feels weird, looking down on Draco. Drawing in a shuddery breath, he gets onto all fours. Feeling faintly ridiculous, he makes his way across the room. It can’t be more than a few seconds away but it feels like miles. The carpet scratches his bare knees and he’s conscious of the way the air in the room skims over his skin and sends shivers through the length of his body. By the time he reaches Draco, his whole body’s shaking. He whines. He doesn’t say anything he just _whines_ , the sound falling from his lips as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Draco scratches underneath Harry’s chin, tipping his head back and never taking his eyes off him. His eyes are dark pools now, his lips damp as he runs his tongue over them again. “That’s a good boy. Good pup.”

Harry does a little wriggle, his cheeks flaming. He’s not sure he’s ever going to be comfortable enough to wag his tail but he hopes Draco appreciates the effort. The heat travels through his body and he tips his head so his cheek’s in Draco’s palm. Mustering up all of his courage he lets out a _ruff_. It’s quiet but then the room is deathly still and the sound reverberates. He does it again and then, almost by instinct, he turns his face and runs his tongue over the palm of Draco’s hand. 

“That’s it.” Draco’s voice is rough and he uses his free hand to struggle to get his wand out of his pocket. He mutters a curse and then he retrieves it, flicking it with a muttered _Accio_ to Summon something. Harry watches as Draco takes his hand from Harry’s cheek and puts his wand down, turning the collar in his hands. It’s grey. The same light grey as Draco’s eyes, the sort of grey the clouds get just before rain. It looks soft inside, with a light fur lining. There’s a tag on the collar and Harry edges closer to try to see.

There it is. Silver and smooth. A small circle reflecting Harry’s eyes back at him. It’s got his name on in elegant script. _Harry_. His heart pounds and he looks up at Draco. It’s something they should talk about, really, but Harry’s not quite able to talk. His heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of his chest and he’s not able to do much more than nudge Draco’s knee eagerly with his nose. He feels like a right idiot but he can’t hide his eagerness. _Draco_. Harry didn’t even know he wanted this, would have denied it outright if Draco had asked. But now that he’s seen the soft, perfect collar with his name on he wants it more than anything. His body aches for it. He whines again and tips his chin back, watching Draco.

“You like it, don’t you?” Draco runs his fingers through Harry’s hair and it feels so good, Harry wants to bottle up the sensation and keep it close for those moments when the nights stretch ahead of him. “Good boy. Good pup.” Harry doesn’t miss the way Draco’s hands shake as he reaches for Harry, tipping his chin back a little more. He fastens the collar carefully and it’s soft and warm around Harry’s skin. It’s not too tight or too loose. It fits just right. Harry lets out a _woof_ , pawing at Draco’s leg. He wants to show him how happy he is. How much it helps to know he’s _someone’s_. Draco slips off the armchair, on his knees so he’s level with Harry. His eyes are dark and his breathing ragged as he runs his hands through Harry’s hair. He wraps him in a hug, just as Harry sometimes does to Lady and they sit there like that while the clock ticks past the minutes until Harry’s body finally starts to relax.

Eventually, Draco stands. He motions to the bed and he runs his fingers through Harry’s hair. He looks so fond – the way he looks sometimes when he’s telling Lady she’s being particularly ridiculous. “Do you want to try your new bed? Only the very best for my favourite pup.”

Harry lets out a happy bark, his limbs already heavy. He crawls his way over to the bed and settles in it, a sigh leaving him. The bed is so warm and soft. There’s a blanket in it covered with little black paw prints and it’s the cosiest Harry’s ever been. It’s just the right size for him to curl up, just as he’d imagined. He looks at Draco and lets out a quiet _ruff_. He hopes Draco understands.

“It’s okay, pup.” Draco ruffles Harry’s hair, his face already lighter than it was when Harry arrived. “I’m just going to be over here.” He gestures to the armchair. “I’ve got some reading to do. I’m not going anywhere.”

With a soft whine Harry hopes Draco will read as thanks, he closes his eyes and lets sleep wash over him.

*

It’s dark when Harry wakes. The room is warm and the rustle of a paper makes him blink as he adjusts to the dim light of the room.

“You’re awake.” Draco lowers his paper and he folds it, putting it on the table. He gives Harry a smile and approaches the bed, scratching behind Harry’s ears. Harry feels like he’s slept for years. It’s so peaceful in Draco’s living room and the bed’s so comfortable. Draco picks up one of the toys. It’s a fluffy looking thing, like a rabbit. He uses his hands to bounce it towards Harry and on instinct, Harry paws at it. He lets out a half laugh, half bark. Draco’s a bit blurry – Harry mustn’t have his glasses on. Draco must have taken them off while he slept. With a renewed bout of energy, Harry paws at the toy again until Draco’s laughing too and they’re both on the floor, watching one another. They sit like that as the clock ticks past the minutes until Harry's voice eventually returns.

“I’m not…” 

“Not a puppy anymore?” Draco beckons Harry closer. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Harry breathes. He doesn’t stand. He crawls across the floor, just as he did before. It’s strangely soothing, being on his knees. Besides, he’s not sure his wobbly legs would carry him if he tried to stand. He settles in front of Draco and his breathing quickens. His fingers ghost over the collar and Draco smiles, bright enough to light up the whole room.

“I thought that might be our code, if you want to do this again. I’ll keep it somewhere so we both know where to find it.”

“Okay.” Harry nods. He’s not particularly chatty at the moment, his limbs still pleasantly heavy and his head a little fuzzy. The thought of _again_ makes his heart beat recklessly and his body warm from head to toe. He lurches forward and kisses Draco, messy and unfocused. Draco slides his hands into Harry’s hair and kisses him back fiercely, steadying Harry and pushing him back onto the floor.

The puppy thing isn’t about sex for Harry, but there’s something about knowing it’s this secret escape they have between them that makes his desire for Draco even more rich and focused in the aftermath. His skin tingles with every touch of Draco's fingers and lips. His whole body is both relaxed and sensitive to the touch, a deep, powerful arousal curling within his belly as Draco touches him everywhere. It's like he can almost feel Draco's breath on his skin - like the kisses and press of Draco's fingertips form words and sentences on Harry's body that neither of them can say out loud. The connection to Draco intensifies when he stretches Harry out on the floor. It's just enough for Harry's head to land in the bed he slept on only moments before. The blanket’s soft beneath his head and as he kisses Draco he can still feel the soft fur on the collar rubbing against his throat. When Draco’s kissing him like this, Harry’s desperate to feel him and to be just as close as they can be. 

“I don’t think…” Draco’s voice is ragged, his words leaving him in a breathless rush. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight of you there, just sleeping. You…trust me.” His voice is full of wonderment, the sharpness sometimes lacing his tone completely gone.

“’Course.” Harry does. He really does, the knowledge taking him by surprise. He trusts Draco more than he’s trusted anyone – at least when it comes to this. Draco’s hand wraps around Harry’s cock and _god_ that feels good. He’s so loose-limbed and tired but everything seems extra sensitive at the moment and he just needs to be kissing Draco. He pulls at Draco’s clothes, mouthing over his slim collarbone and lower. He murmurs in Draco’s ear something that sounds like _please_.

Draco takes his time getting Harry ready, sucking his prick into his mouth and fingering him open. When Harry’s slick and so desperate for Draco, he pushes in and bites back a groan. “You’re going to be the death of me, Potter.”

“Bloody hope not.” Harry’s cheek returns, little by little. With every kiss and stroke of Draco inside him he comes back to himself a little more. He answers Draco’s thrusts with lazy kisses, stroking his hands over Draco’s body and tugging him into heated kiss after heated kiss.

When they’re sticky and sated, Harry reaches for Draco and twines their fingers together. “I’ll come with you.”

Draco smirks. “I think you already did.”

“Prat.” Harry snorts and he squeezes Draco’s hand. “Not that. I mean, to your mum and dad's. If you want.”

Draco gives Harry a shrewd look. “Why? You hate my father.”

“Not your mum, though.” Harry shrugs. “Besides, if he’s going to throw around words like disgusting and queer I’d like him to say them to my face too.”

Draco sighs. “I’m not going to let you hex him. That’s not going to help anything.”

“I wasn’t thinking that.” Harry turns to Draco. “I’m pretty influential in the Ministry. He’s not someone who’s going to turn away a possible political ally, is he?”

“You’re never going to fight my father’s cause.” Draco rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Maybe I won’t.” Harry gives Draco a grin. “But don’t you think the possibility I _might_ could be enough to make things a bit easier for you?”

Draco seems to be thinking. Finally, he nods. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Draco winces. “This floor’s murder on my back. Supper?”

Harry’s stomach growls and he nods. “Yeah, sounds good.”

“Put on that horrible outfit of yours. I’ll bring it in. It’s just pizza.”

Harry smiles, because _just pizza_ sounds perfect.

*

Harry doesn’t have long to eat his cereal, the clock in Draco’s kitchen already indicating he’s about ten minutes away from running late. Lady keeps giving him beseeching looks even though he’s fairly certain she’s not going to be fond of Rice Krispies. “I’m off to Ron and Hermione’s this evening. We’re doing some last minute planning for tomorrow night. Want to come?”

“I doubt Weasley would want that.” Draco pulls a face.

“No, but I do. Besides, Hermione likes you and if you stop being such an arse around him, I’m sure Ron would too.”

Draco presses his lips into a tight line. “You don’t have to invite me. There’s no obligation.”

“I know there’s no _obligation_.” Harry rolls his eyes, shoving another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. He’s quickly starting to learn Draco needs at least two strong coffees before he starts behaving himself. “I just want you there. We can sneak off and snog in the loos like Ron and Hermione always used to do when I went out with them. It wasn’t even a little bit subtle.”

Draco’s eyes gleam. “Do you think Weasley might have a coronary if we did?”

Harry glares at Draco. “Not what I’m trying to do here, Malfoy.”

“ _Fine_.” With a roll of his eyes Draco pours himself another coffee. “Can I smoke?”

Harry laughs and he gives Draco a look. “If you like. The idea’s that bad?”

“It’s not that good.” Draco huffs and sips his coffee. “I’ll come. Where?”

“Come to mine at six. Grimmauld Place.” Harry stands, rinsing out his cereal bowl. “They’re expecting us at eight. It might give me time to cheer you up.”

Draco snorts. “It’s going to take more than a quick blowjob to convince me a night with Weasley’s anything other than a bad idea.”

Harry finishes his tea, leaning against the counter and watching Draco with a grin. He crouches to give Lady’s fur a quick ruffle and she _yips_ at him when he stands. “It can’t hurt, though?”

“It’s better than nothing.”

Harry moves to give Draco a quick kiss and then something occurs to him. “That collar, by the way. There’s something missing.”

“Oh?” Draco raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah.” Heat rises in Harry’s cheeks but he holds Draco’s gaze. “Those tags are usually there in case the dog gets lost, aren’t they?” He picks Lady up, sitting next to Draco and carefully extracting the tag on her collar. “Lady Macbeth. Property of Astoria Greengrass. If found, please return to…” He reads out the address and then lets Lady bound off his lap to investigate something more interesting. “So, I thought there might be something missing.”

“You did?” Draco sounds a little hoarse. “Should I add Grimmauld Place to it?”

Harry holds Draco’s gaze, even though he’s sure he’s bright red by now. “My…bed’s not there.”

“Oh.” Draco takes a long sip of his coffee and winces when it burns his throat. He puts it on the table but not quickly enough for Harry to miss his hand tremble. “Then…”

“It’s nice to know there’s someone that wants you to be found. Somewhere to go. That’s all.” Harry gives Draco another quick kiss, because he’s not going to spell it out. He can’t, really. He still finds it awkward enough bringing up the _remember how I like to pretend I’m a puppy?_ in the cold light of day. It takes all of his courage to mention it at all. 

“Well.” Draco’s voice sounds a little faint. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Harry stands to leave but before he can go anywhere, he finds himself pulled into Draco’s arms and on the receiving end of a kiss which doesn’t exactly say _I’ll let you get off to work, then._ His cock responds with eager readiness and he groans into Draco’s mouth. “Fuck…I’m…”

“You’re what?” Draco’s hand pushes into Harry’s loose tracksuit bottoms and rubs over the hard line of his cock. 

“Already five minutes late.” Harry bucks into Draco’s hand, clutching onto the table for some support. Christ, Draco’s good in bed. It should be illegal to be that good with your hands.

“Oh dear.” Draco doesn’t sound sorry at all. Instead he sinks to his knees and tugs Harry’s trousers down, releasing his prick to the cool air in the room. “Better be quick, then.”

“Yeah.” Harry shoves his hands into Draco’s hair and pulls him closer, Draco’s mouth tight, hot and blissful. “Better had.”

*

“Malfoy.”

“Weasley.”

“Lovely to see you both, come in.” Hermione manages to push her way between Draco and Ron, giving Harry a kiss on the cheek. She keeps her voice low enough that Ron and Draco miss it as they snipe at one another on the way to the living room. “You look happy.”

“I am a bit.” The heat rises in Harry’s cheeks, because he can still feel Draco inside him and the memory of the words whispered in the privacy of Harry bedroom already make Grimmauld Place feel less cold. “Do you reckon they’ll ever get on?”

“I’m sure they’ll find something in common.” Hermione doesn’t look that sure but she also doesn’t look unduly worried. She smiles when Lady leaps out of Harry’s arms and jumps up at her, asking to be petted. “Who’s this, then?”

“Lady. It’s Astoria’s dog. Draco’s looking after her and I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

Hermione gives Harry a fond look. “Of course you didn’t.”

“Draco took her home and Lucius was a right arse by all accounts. I don’t think she liked the Manor.”

“I’m not surprised. There’s a rotten history in that place and animals can always sense these things.” Hermione shudders and strokes Lady’s head. “I don’t know how Draco can stand to be there. Can you imagine what he must have been through during the war?”

Harry nods. He thinks of the way Draco looked on Thursday and the way he’d looked after Harry until the itch on his skin subsided and he could sleep. Harry’s not sure Draco slept. He’s not sure how Draco sleeps, now he comes to think of it. He’s usually so warm and relaxed just having someone there, it knocks him out within moments. Draco’s always been so good at making Harry talk, but Harry’s not sure he’s got to the heart of Draco’s wants just yet. 

“It’s still new.”

“Is it?” Hermione lets Lady sniff a path along the floor until she bounds into the living room where Draco and Ron have already taken seats on opposite sides of the room, large glasses of booze in hand. “That Muggle you mentioned…I always wondered…”

Harry shakes his head at Hermione. “I’m not surprised you’re the best Unspeakable the Ministry’s ever had.”

“Yes, but we’re not really supposed to speak about that.” Hermione winks and hands Harry a beer. “I’m pleased for you both.”

“Is everything in order for tomorrow?” Draco looks at Hermione, pointedly ignoring Ron. Harry rolls his eyes and sits next to him, giving him a nudge.

“We’re nearly there. Harry, how’s your speech coming along?”

Not at all is the honest answer. Harry avoids Hermione’s eyes, the heat of Draco’s gaze on him making him distinctly uncomfortable. “Brilliantly. I just need to make a few edits.”

“If you’re sure.” Hermione doesn’t look convinced.

“You haven’t even started it, have you?” Draco murmurs. He gives Harry a jab in the side. “You never told me you were giving a speech.”

“Must have slipped my mind.” Harry looks at Draco, the realisation that the press will be even more focused on them washing over him. “It’s going to be obvious we’re together, you know. Do you mind?”

“No, Potter. I asked you to come with me because I wanted to keep it a secret.” Draco’s brow furrows and he looks displeased. “I couldn’t care less what the press say. I wasn’t aware you cared, either.”

“I don’t.” Harry picks up Lady, letting her settle in his lap. “You know I don’t.”

Draco relaxes. “Let them talk.” He gives Lady’s head a ruffle and she _yips_ at him with pleasure. “Apart from Potter not doing his homework, what else is there?”

“The seating plan.” Hermione flicks her wand and neatly drawn plans land in each of their laps. “I don’t really know the Aurors as well as you and Ron, Harry. You'll have to tell me if I'm sitting people somewhere they're going to hate. Draco, I think you’ll know some of the people attending from the time you spent with Bill. Again, I'd appreciate your thoughts.”

Harry looks at Draco, whose cheeks have taken on a dusky pink hue.

“Bill?”

“Later.” Draco doesn’t meet Harry’s eyes. Instead he focuses on the seating plan, running his fingers over it. “Putting MacDonald next to Dawlish seems like a recipe for disaster.”

Ron nods in agreement. “For once, Malfoy’s right. Dawlish should sit over here.” He points at a table on the other side of the room. “Maccabee can’t sit by Smith, either. They had a bust up on the last off-site. If Shacklebolt makes any cuts, it’s one of them in the firing line.”

Harry puts seating plan on the floor, using Draco’s instead. Draco rests a casual hand on Harry’s leg, his thumb moving in slow circles. It’s relaxing and Harry shifts closer to Draco, enjoying the warmth of his body. 

No matter how hard he tries though, he still can’t shake the feeling that there’s a lot about Draco he doesn’t know.

*

“You didn’t tell me you worked with Bill.” They get back to Grimmauld Place late, half-pissed and tired. Harry locks the door behind them with a few flicks of his wand and drops his jacket on the bannister. He follows Draco upstairs and watches as Draco unbuttons his shirt.

“No.” Draco slides off his shirt, folding it with a few flicks of his wand. “I’m tired, let's just go to sleep.”

Harry thinks about Draco at the Manor – Draco working with Bill – the interest in smoking and the faceless people Draco's experimented with over their years apart. There's so much he still doesn’t know about Draco’s time away. There's a reason it's clouds. A reason Draco looks up at the sky like it pains him, sometimes. Harry knows it's something to do with the time Draco spent away from London and he's not going to let it go that easily. “How long?”

Draco rubs his jaw and he doesn’t look at Harry. “About a year.”

“Why didn’t you say?” Harry doesn’t like the disgruntled note in his voice, but it’s _Bill_. Harry knows Bill well enough to go and have dinner at his house. They’re not as close as Harry is to Ron, but they’re close enough. Family, practically. “While we’re at it, what’s the business with Kingsley that’s got you going to the Ministry twice a week?”

Draco sits on the bed, his hands folded in his lap. He’s still not looking at Harry and a sense of dread creeps over him. He’s in over his head with Malfoy. He’s too far down the line to pull away now, but he knows nothing about Draco. He doesn’t know about his work, what he’s been doing since he left or why he came back. Apparently Harry’s not the only one who’s bad at talking about certain things and he could kick himself for missing the same evasive manner in Draco.

“If I tell you, you’re not to tell anyone.”

“Okay.” Harry sits next to Draco. This time it’s his hand on Draco’s leg, his thumb making soothing circles. The fist clutching his heart loosens a little when Draco doesn’t pull away.

“I left soon after that last night in Soho.” Draco’s voice is smaller than usual. “When I said it was never about you, I meant it. I wasn’t ready to accept who I was – I certainly wasn’t ready to go against the wishes of my father.”

“I remember.” Harry does. He remembers the papers landing on his dining room table like bludgers against his heart. Image after image of Draco, holding hands with one new, pretty witch after another. 

“Yes.” Draco winces. “I thought I could do it. When I met Astoria and she was just like me, we both thought we could. We thought we could marry and live in an open relationship, keeping our liaisons discreet. It would have pleased Mother and Father and I could still live as I wanted, without any of the trouble.”

“But you changed your mind?”

“Eventually.” Draco’s lips twist, his expression pained. “Not because of any bravery on my part, or hers.”

“Then why?” Harry’s mouth is dry, his heart pounding in his chest. Draco looks wrecked. He’s slimmer, paler and younger than ever. 

“I’ll get to that.” Draco turns to Harry, his eyes dark. “The Manor was full of all sorts after the Dark Lord decided to make it his home. I was careless with some of the items and just as Astoria and I were making our plans, I was hit with a curse. That’s why I worked with Bill for a year. I imagine Granger only knows as much as the cover story – that I was assisting with a matter which required an accomplished Legilimens with some experience in Dark Arts. In truth, I wasn’t working for Bill. He was working for me.”

“Because of the curse.” Harry’s whole body’s cold, a lump rising in his throat. “Bill’s good. I bet he got to the bottom of it in no time.” He’s not prepared to accept any alternative. He can’t. Malfoy looks so pinched and serious, it’s sending waves of panic through Harry.

_I’d rather be haunted by the dead than spend the night alone._

_I won’t leave you alone._

_Just blue sky and blank space where the clouds used to be._

It’s only when Harry hears Draco murmuring _breathe, breathe_ in his ear that he realises he actually isn’t; that he can’t. 

“Potter, you daft sod. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Christ, I’m not _dying_.” Draco’s arms wrap around Harry and his words send relief crashing through Harry. He’s not even sure why his eyes are damp, or when his throat began to hurt so much.

"I knew there was something. You and your bloody clouds." Harry tries to steady himself and repeats to himself _not dying_. Draco's still here and he's warm and firm, holding Harry close enough that they could almost be one person.

Draco pulls a face. "I like the clouds because they're just like me. Sometimes I'm there and then I'm not. It's all so fleeting. Being fine one minute, cursed the next and fighting just to exist in a world that doesn't even want you in it." Draco's voice is slow and quiet. He sounds broken. "One minute you're dancing with Muggles and kissing a hero in the rain and the next it hurts just to look at the sky. Every night I hear their screams and some nights I didn't even realise the screams were my own. You think _don't let me die_ and you wonder if tonight might be the night he saves you."

Harry's words catch in his throat, the lump in his throat making it painful to swallow. "He can't save you if he doesn't even know you need rescuing. How can he _save you_ when he doesn't know where to find you or if you want to be found?"

"He did, though. He always knew. I didn't _hide_." Draco takes a deep breath and his voice is almost a whisper. "For the record, I always want to be found. I don't want to disappear, like a cloud."

Harry's shaking as he presses close to Draco. "I won't let you. Tell me. Tell me the rest."

Draco shakes his head but he continues anyway. “The curse was never going to kill me but at the time, it felt like it might. It was a nasty thing, it got into my bloodstream and my whole body ached with it. There were days when I struggled to walk and days I couldn’t go outside because the sun was too bright and it burned my eyes.”

Harry swallows. He thinks of Draco sitting in the park and pointing at the clouds, looking like he’s never seen the sky before. He reaches for Draco’s hand and squeezes, his words heavy on his tongue. “And now?”

“Fine, for the most part. Bill reversed the worst of it.” Draco looks at Harry briefly. “During Winter sometimes, it still hurts to walk. When it’s frosty or there’s snow or lots of rain. I gather it’s a bit like Muggle arthritis, do you know it?”

“I think so.” Harry glares at Draco. “Why didn’t you tell me? Were you just going to let me take you out for snowball fights and pretend nothing was wrong?”

Draco rolls his eyes at Harry. “As we’re a bit old for snowball fights, I hadn’t really been worrying about that. I thought I’d tell you when the moment came up.”

“You’re never too old for snowball fights,” Harry mutters. He studies Draco. “And the stuff with Shacklebolt?”

“Oh.” Draco pulls a face. “I need an ingredient for my potion, it eases the aftershocks from the curse we couldn’t eradicate completely. It’s on a list of prohibited items. I didn’t want to acquire it through illegal channels. I only just avoided Azkaban as it was. They’re looking for any excuse to lock me up and throw away the key. I thought the best solution would be to ask Kingsley about it. Try to get official approval.”

Harry stares at Draco. He knows, of course, what people say about the Malfoys. He knows the distrust which lingered after the war and the general sentiment that surviving Death Eaters hadn’t been punished enough. He imagines Draco taking his papers to the Minister just to ask for some respite from a curse half of wizarding Britain would probably say he deserved. The thought makes Harry feel fierce and protective.

“You’ve got that look.” Draco brushes Harry’s hair from his face.

Harry frowns. “What look?”

“Your _heroic_ look.” Draco watches Harry closely. “You think you’re going to save me, Potter? Is that it?” He laughs but there's no humour in it. "And here he is, after all this time."

Harry meet Draco's gaze without flinching. “Yeah, I'm here. Do you think you're ready for that?"

“I don’t need to be reliant on other people. I can take care of myself.” Draco looks away, his voice tight. “I’m _fine_. There's no war, no curse - not really. I don't even know what you'd be saving me from anymore.”

“Yourself, from the sound of things.” Harry stands, his hands shaking a little. "If you're fine, then so am I."

Draco looks up at Harry, his expression pinched. “You’re not fine. You can’t even sleep properly.”

Harry snorts, a wave of anger rolling through him. “So it's okay for me to be a total fuck up, but you're not allowed to be from time to time? Is this how it's going to go? You make me spill my heart to you and indulge my weird fantasies and I have to wait to hear second or third hand about anything that happens to you?”

Draco grits his teeth. “It's not that easy to just tell someone. Try being a fuck up when that's what everyone already expects. It's hardly going to surprise anyone. People expect me to do the wrong thing because that's all I've ever done." Draco's eyes flash with anger. "I suppose you want to run off to Shackelbolt and make a case on my behalf, because nobody ever says no to the Boy Who Lived."

Harry watches Draco, an icy hand clutching at his heart. "So what if I do want to help? God forbid I'd use my name for something that might actually help you get the potions ingredient you need. I'm not going to pretend I wouldn't fight anyone who tried to put you in Azkaban - of course I would. It's what people _do_ for someone they...care about."

Draco's lips twist into a dark smile. "It's what you'd do, you mean. I might, if it benefited me. I've never put myself out for anyone."

Harry's hands are shaking and he has to ball them into fists to stop the tremble from traveling the full length of his body. "You do. You sat in a park waiting for me. You've made me happier than I've been for ages. I've seen you with Lady and I've seen you with _me_. Your heart of stone act's just bullshit. It always has been."

Draco's voice is small and defeated now. "What makes you so sure? This could all just be a big joke."

The familiar sense of shame and fear creep over Harry, but he swallows them down because _no, no, no_. He's looked into Draco's eyes. He's seen those moments when the mask falls. Perhaps he knows more about Draco than he realises - perhaps he always has. "It's not a joke, not for either of us. It never has been, no matter how much you want to lie to yourself. Do you get off on it, Malfoy? Does it make you feel good pretending to be so much more together than me?” Fear stabs through Harry’s heart even as he tells himself Malfoy's lying. He's done so much with Draco, he’s exposed so much of himself. The thought that he could stand up and leave Harry on his own again makes his stomach twist as bile rises in his throat. His voice falters and he stretches out a hand to Draco. "If I do this, are you ever going to just _take it_? Let someone help, for once."

"I think you'll find that's you, actually.” Draco’s lips twist downwards in displeasure. "That's how this all began, isn't it? I was just an offered hand you never wanted to take."

“We were _eleven_ , you bloody tosspot." Harry growls low in his throat and his cheeks flame. "It's not the same. That's all past but this is now and I'm right here in front of you, asking you to let me in. The things we’ve been doing together I wouldn't do with just anyone. It's only ever been you that's come even close to knowing the half of it. I've told you things about me nobody knows, not even my closest friends and you can’t be bothered to tell me about the time you _almost died_. You expect me just to _know_ but you're not half as easy to read as I must be - not half, Malfoy.” 

Draco seems to be battling with himself. Eventually he stands, not approaching Harry just yet but bringing himself to the same level. He reaches his hand out, his fingertips brushing Harry's. “Fine, then I'm going to have to spell it out for you. Do you know why I came back?”

“Because you needed to see Shacklebolt, I imagine.” Nausea rolls through Harry and he can't look at Draco, he just can't. He knows if he does he'll end up right back where he started - standing in the rain watching Draco disappear into the night. A determination creeps over Harry and he collects himself, strengthening his resolve. He's faced Voldemort head on and he's not going to let Draco stand in front of him looking small, sharp and uncertain. He's not just going to watch Draco go this time. He's grown up a lot since then - they both have. If Draco wants a fight, he'll get one. Harry's going to fight for him with every last breath. He slides their fingers together and he pulls Draco close enough that they're standing toe to toe.

“Not just Shacklebolt.” Draco’s breath is alcohol sweet and warm on Harry’s cheek. “Do you know how much nearly dying forces you to wake up?”

“I might, yeah.” Harry breathes in Draco’s now familiar scent and he wraps his arms around Draco's waist. It feels safe. It feels more right than anything's felt in a long time. He’s in over his head with Draco, he knows it. He can't keep the distance he knows he should, no matter how hard he tries. “I might have some idea.”

“Well.” Draco's whispers fall with his lips against Harry's skin. They're cold and narrow, brushing Harry's skin lightly enough to send shivers of desire through the length of Harry's body. “You know, then. How nearly dying makes you realise what matters. You realise that maybe there's a reason you're always making clouds into Snitches, Hogwarts turrets, lightning bolts and a face you've never been able to get out of your head. You realise that maybe the boy who used to look out of his bedroom window and wonder if Harry Potter was still alive wasn't just wondering because he wanted to survive the war himself."

"Oh." Harry breathes into the still air and he tugs on Draco's hair so he can find his lips, bringing them softly to his own. He breaks the kiss after a moment and stares at Draco, trying to read every flicker of emotion which crosses his features.

"Oh," Draco repeats. His lips curve into a wry, tentative smile. "I tried to fight it, you know. I didn't want to face up to the fact that I was just like a Hufflepuff witch, losing my head over you."

"Did it work?"

Draco snorts. "Not really. It doesn't how matter how much you don't want something to be true. It still is.”

"You weren't the only one losing your head, you idiot." Harry kisses Draco properly then, their breath mingling as he opens his mouth to Draco. The kiss is a careful, lazy thing which makes Harry's head spin. It lasts long enough to send Harry's heart pounding and he presses his whole body tightly against Draco's until there's no air between them anymore. Eventually Draco pulls back and rubs his thumb over Harry’s lip. The touch is almost more intimate than the kiss and a soft whimper leaves Harry's lips. He's so gone for Draco. He's back in Soho again, aching hard eighteen and desperate just to feel something other than loss. He's under the storm cloud covered sky and the rain's wet and cold on his skin. Malfoy's kisses were always warm, though. They always had Harry's body responding with eager readiness. Every kiss filled in a small tear in Harry's skin, a fracture on his bones. They were like that, in those days. Two broken kids trying to piece themselves together again with stormy kisses and unspoken words.

“I came back for you, you stupid prick. I nearly died and I thought well, fuck it. Life’s too short to be miserable. Besides, I’m a Malfoy. I’m used to getting what I want. And I want _you_. Always have.”

Harry's sure the smile stretching over his face must be blinding. “You’re such a spoiled brat.”

“I know.” Draco shrugs, as if it doesn't bother him. He puts his hands over Harry’s belt buckle and he places teasing kisses along the line of Harry’s neck. “I do like getting what I want.”

Harry groans and he presses into Draco’s talented hands. “You’ll let me help with Shacklebolt? You’ll tell me if your legs hurt?”

“If I must.” Draco mouths over Harry’s skin, unbuckling his trousers completely. He pushes down Harry’s trousers and wraps his hand around his cock. Harry reaches for Draco and unbuttons his trousers quickly, sliding his hand around Draco’s cock. The motion makes Draco hiss with pleasure and he captures Harry’s lips in another fierce kiss.

“Good.” Harry says, a little breathlessly. He squeezes Draco’s cock and strokes. “If you don’t, I’ll curse you again myself.”

Draco laughs, rich and warm. He buries his head in Harry’s neck, sucking a mark onto Harry’s skin. He groans and pushes into Harry’s hand as Harry strokes him in time with Draco’s touch. Draco murmurs the spell so his hand is slick, just as Harry likes. "Messy," he whispers.

"Yeah. A bit." Harry isn't sure if Draco's talking about the slick lube on their hands or the two of them. Perhaps it's a bit of both. They _are_ messy and messed up and terrible at talking about things that matter, but for the first time Harry thinks it might be okay. They're learning.

"You feel good." Draco's fingers tighten on Harry's cock and he moves his hand more quickly, the slick slide of his hand loud in the still room. The motion of Draco’s hand leaves heat curling in Harry’s stomach and sends sparks of pleasure through his body.

"You too. You always did." Harry's words falter and he jerks into Draco's hand. It's so good and he's so close already. He has to bite his bottom lip to try to hold back the orgasm which threatens to crash over him. "I missed you."

"Missed you too." Draco kisses Harry then and what starts as a slow, deep kiss becomes a desperate, urgent thing as they both reach completion.

"Now we're really messy." Harry grins at Draco as they separate, murmuring a spell to clean them both.

"Aren't we?" Draco meets Harry's grin with one of his own. He strips out of his clothes and sends them off in a carefully folded pile. “You’re coming to bed?”

“Yeah.” Harry takes a moment to look at Draco, his heart full to bursting. He quickly strips and settles next to Draco. 

The night stretches out with soft kisses and whispered truths which leave the whole room feeling cosy and warm. By the time they’re finally ready to sleep, Draco doesn’t even have the energy to complain when Lady paws at the side of the bed and lets out a soft whine.

“One night won’t hurt,” Harry says.

“You’re far too easy for that dog,” Draco murmurs, his voice heavy with sleep. “One night.”

“Okay.” With a grin, Harry picks Lady up and settles her on the bed. She licks his face in enthusiastic thanks. He cuddles her close and tangles his feet with Draco’s, listening to the sound of Lady’s huffs and Draco’s breathing and feeling warmer and more content than he has in a long time.

*

After finding out about the curse, Harry's eager to play with Draco again as soon as possible. The affection he can give to Draco as a puppy comes easier somehow than letting all of his jumbled thoughts fall into the open so they’re out there between them. That’s why he takes Lady for her morning walk, coming into Draco’s flat when he’s invited. As Draco makes a pot of tea Harry retrieves the collar from the agreed place.

He clears his throat. “Malfoy?”

“Hmm?” Draco turns, his eyes flicking to the collar then up to Harry’s heated cheeks. “Okay, then.” His voice is rougher than it was, his lips curving into a smile. “Why don’t you get ready? I’ll be in shortly. Leave the collar on your bed.”

“Okay.” Harry bites back a groan and he makes his way to the living room, stripping out of his clothes. His skin is still warm and clean from the shower he took with Draco just an hour or so ago. The scent of the shower gel reminds him of Draco’s hands on his body, rubbing the gel into a soapy lather. He folds up his clothes and sends them upstairs with a flick of his wand. He leaves his collar on his bed and looks at the leash on the wall. A thought occurs to him which makes him blush, but once it takes hold he can’t get it out of his mind. He swallows, taking the leash off the wall. He sits in his bed, the leash between his teeth and the collar next to his head, arranging himself as he imagines a puppy might.

Eventually Draco comes in and sucks in a breath at the sight of Harry with the leash between his teeth. “What’s this then?”

Harry gets on all fours and lets Draco fix his collar and attach the leash to it. He half expects Draco to sit in the armchair, but instead Draco makes his way to the sofa, the leash wrapped around his hand. Harry crawls towards him, the sofa further away than the armchair. The light tug of the leash on his collar sends pleasure reverberating through his spine until his body almost trembles with it. The carpet scrapes his knuckles and the wood is hard and cold beneath his knees but it feels good. The tension leaves him, his heart pounding in his chest. He thinks of his argument with Draco last night and whines, nudging Draco with his head when they reach the sofa.

“What’s the matter, pup?” Draco’s voice is soft and warm.

Harry nudges Draco’s hand, pawing at him and giving his hand a lick. He wants to be closer to Draco. He wants to curl up with him and show him how his heart fills when Draco treats Harry like a puppy. He lets out an impatient bark, pawing at the sofa now and giving Draco what he hopes is a beseeching look, tipping his head to one side as Lady does sometimes when she wants to be picked up or fed a treat.

“Dogs aren’t allowed on the sofa,” Draco murmurs. “You know that.” He scratches behind Harry’s ears and then he sighs as Harry continues to look at him and lets out a quiet _ruff, ruff_. He runs his hand through Harry’s hair before reaching for the collar. He extracts the tag gently and reads, without looking at Harry.

“ _Harry. Property of Draco Malfoy. If found, please return to owner._ ”

A rush of warmth runs through Harry and he licks Draco’s hand, nudging him with his head and rubbing his cheek against Draco’s thigh. After a moment, Draco pats the sofa next to him and gives Harry a fond look.

“Just this once.” 

With a _ruff_ of delight, Harry climbs onto the sofa a little awkwardly. He curls up as close as he can to Draco, his head in Draco’s lap and his paw over Draco’s body. He sucks in a breath when Draco wraps an arm around his waist and he shifts a little to let Draco rub his stomach, the sensation sending pleasure through his body. It’s not a sexual pleasure as such, it’s different. It’s an intense warmth which comes from feeling loved; from being petted. He sighs and lets out a whine, wriggling a little bit as Draco rubs his belly. When it becomes a bit ticklish he turns back over and rubs his nose against Draco’s neck with a low whine, before flopping back into his lap and _ruffing_ quietly.

“Good boy. I think you deserve a treat, don’t you?” Draco reaches for something Harry can’t quite see and then he opens his palm in front of Harry. It’s a bit blurry without his glasses, but Harry can make out two, small dog-bone shaped biscuits. They smell like ginger snaps – human biscuits rather than dog ones – but they look just like Lady’s gravy bones. The fact Draco thought of giving Harry treats makes Harry warm all over. He almost reaches for them, but then he remembers he can’t just pick them up with his paws. He looks at Draco who gives him a nod of encouragement and then he dips his head, his cheeks hot. He opens his mouth and clumsily takes the biscuits into his mouth, taking care not to nip at Draco or scratch his skin with his teeth.

“There’s a good boy.” Draco ruffles Harry’s hair, his voice catching. He scratches behind Harry’s ears as Harry crunches the biscuits, the delicious sugary sweetness and heat of the ginger making his body suffuse with pleasure. His body becomes loose-limbed and he loses all inhibitions, snuffling and pawing lightly at Draco. He wants to communicate how much he loves this – how Draco telling him he’s good and letting him up on the sofa makes his heart burst with pleasure. He’s so full of it. This strange, heady feeling. Full to the brim with _love_ and a sense of belonging which almost overwhelms him. He can’t get enough of Draco, nudging him and licking him where he can and it takes Draco’s quiet words to settle him.

“Shush, pup. I know. I know, Harry. Good boy.” Draco’s voice has that broken edge to it – the way it gets sometimes when he’s pushing into Harry and watching his face with a keen intensity. “Do you want to sleep, pup?”

Harry didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to play and bound around. Now he’s in Draco’s lap though, his eyes feel heavy and waves of relaxation wash over him. With his limbs heavy and the gentle stroke of Draco’s fingers soothing him, he thinks he might want to sleep. He lets out a bark – a quick _woof_ of agreement and snuggles into Draco’s lap.

It's not sleep exactly, but Harry floats off somewhere else until there's nothing to be heard but the quiet hum of Draco's whispers and the sound of his own beating heart. He keeps his eyes closed, snuffling a little whenever Draco runs his fingers through Harry’s hair. It doesn't feel strange or quite so messy anymore. It feels like it should be.

*

Harry blinks and trying to adjust to the afternoon light as best he can without his glasses. Draco scratches behind his ears and lets him come round, keeping him close and petting him as he wakes.

“We’ve only got a few hours before the Ministry ball. Are you going to be okay if we keep playing?” Draco’s voice is low and soft and Harry nods his head and _ruffs_ his agreement. He hasn’t even written his speech yet, much less decided what to wear, but he’s so comfortable and Draco’s affection is cosier than any blanket. It wraps around him and makes his whole body pliant and loose. He doesn’t want to come back to reality just yet. He clambers off the sofa and looks up at Draco, his head cocked to one side.

A strange, giddy, playfulness comes over him and he crawls to his bed and picks up a toy between his teeth. He takes it back to Draco and drops it in his lap, feeling warm when Draco gives him the same kind of affectionate eye-roll that’s usually reserved for Lady.

“You’re a demanding little pup, aren’t you?”

Harry _ruffs_ his agreement and he tugs on the toy while Draco tugs it back, letting out the odd bark and pawing at Draco. He can’t quite believe he’s doing this, but there’s something so freeing about it and Draco seems content. He loves the way his collar feels around his throat and the way Draco strokes his hair while he dozes, feeds him treats and pets him for being good. He’s so busy barking with laughter and playing, it takes Harry a moment to notice the water bowl on the floor with his name on the side. His cheeks heat and he stares at it, giving Draco a questioning look.

“I thought you might be thirsty.” Draco scratches behind Harry’s ear and holds his gaze. “I filled your bowl, just in case.” He unclips the leash from Harry’s collar and nods at the bowl. “Go on, then.”

With his whole body now feeling hot, Harry crawls to the bowl. He’s aware of how very naked he must look, how on display he is. Tentatively he bends down and laps at the water just once. It’s nice. Cool and refreshing on his parched tongue. He gives it another tentative lick, trying to get more water in his mouth. His nose is damp and it’s awkward but it doesn’t take long before he masters the art of lapping at the water well enough to quench his sudden thirst. He takes a final lap of the water, the droplets going all over his face and he looks up at Draco who’s watching him with an amused look.

“Come here, you mucky pup.” Draco rubs Harry’s face clean with a blanket and then ruffles his hair before giving him another ginger treat. Harry tips his head on Draco’s thigh and lies there for a while, just breathing him in. 

“Draco?” He looks up after a period of silence and wonderfully relaxing scratches behind his ear. He’s not quite back to himself yet, still a little woozy and desperate to please Draco. That same rich sense of connection returns and intense arousal floods his body. “Can I?” He slides his hands along Draco’s thighs, his voice almost a whisper.

“God.” Draco’s hand tightens in Harry’s hair and he nods. “Yes. Yes, do it.” 

With a low groan, Harry undoes Draco’s trousers. He exposes Draco’s lovely prick to the cool air in the room and mouths over it, relishing Draco’s warm, clean skin beneath his tongue. He takes his time getting Draco slick. He takes Draco in his mouth fully, sucking him to full hardness. He loves the way Draco grows in his mouth and the way his lips have to stretch to accommodate Draco. He likes the hard floor beneath his knees and the not quite with it feeling which drums through his body. He sucks around Draco, sliding off and taking his time to explore every inch of him. He runs his tongue through the slit and kisses a firm line along the shaft, licking from base to tip and down again. He savours every flex of Draco’s thighs beneath his hands, every jerk upwards as Harry does something Draco particularly enjoys.

“Come on, darling. Open up.” Draco thumbs at Harry’s lips with his free hand, his other one tugging sharply at Harry’s hair. Harry obliges, a shiver of pleasure running through him. He opens his mouth and lets himself be pushed down onto Draco. He tries to relax his throat so he can take Draco as deep as he can, groaning around his cock when Draco holds him in place.

It’s hotter than it has any right to be – Draco pushing into Harry’s mouth with reckless abandon. Harry wants to take anything Draco can give him and he sucks and rubs his tongue over Draco where he can. For the most part he’s just content to let Draco use his mouth with hard thrusts as his hands twist and pull in Harry’s hair.

He keeps working his mouth until Draco comes, pulsing salty, warm and bitter in Harry’s mouth. He swallows it all, pulling back only when Draco gentles his rough touch and loosens his grip on Harry’s hair. He looks up at Draco, quite sure his cheeks must be red and his hair rumpled and untidy. “Okay?”

“More than.” Draco looks thoroughly shagged out, but he puts out a hand to keep Harry on his knees as he struggles to get to his feet. “Just…I’m not finished with you yet.”

“Okay.” A shiver of anticipation travels through Harry’s veins and he nods, eagerly. “What should I do?”

Draco makes a turning motion with his finger, indicating Harry should face in the other direction. “In the middle of the room. Stay on your knees.”

Harry crawls a few steps and then sits back on his heels. He bites back a groan when Draco walks around him, surveying him. Draco’s done his trousers up now and the fact he’s fully clothed only reminds Harry of how naked he is. Draco lets out a hum of approval and then he moves behind Harry, crouching down. Harry can feel the leash being fastened to his collar again and he makes a quiet noise of distress because he doesn’t want to be a puppy again, not like this.

“I just want to tie your arms behind your back. Can I?” Draco’s voice is low and smooth in Harry’s ear.

 _Oh_. That’s okay. That’s more than okay. “Yeah. That’s okay. I just don't want to be...” He trails off because he can't bring himself to say _a puppy_.

“I know. You're just being a good boy. It's okay, darling. I’ve got you.” Draco presses a kiss to Harry’s head and takes his time wrapping the leash around Harry’s wrists so he’s effectively bound in position - kneeling upright with his hands behind his back, his legs splayed and the line of the leather leash brushing against his skin from his neck to his bound hands.

Draco stays behind Harry, his hand pressing on Harry’s shoulder to keep him in place. Harry’s breathing quickens, being bound in this position making his heart _thump, thump_ in his chest. Draco murmurs a spell Harry can’t quite catch and then he’s rubbing slick fingers against Harry’s hole. Draco’s talented fingers tease at Harry’s rim, just stroking in slow circles and not pushing in. 

When Harry’s wriggling in place, Draco pushes down on his shoulder again to still him. “Keep still for me, if you can.”

Harry nods, dropping his head a little as Draco’s free hand moves around Harry’s throat, moving his chin up again and pulling Harry back against his body. “Head up. Keep your head up for me. I want to see your face.” 

As Draco says that, he slides one finger slowly into Harry. The sensation makes Harry shiver and he can’t help but hiss out Draco’s name and a ragged plea. He’s not even sure what he’s asking for. To be kissed. For more fingers. To come. He just _wants_. Draco’s proximity feels so good and as a second finger joins the first, Harry can’t help but shift to part his legs a little more. Draco’s fingers curl and send sparks of pleasure shooting through Harry. He’s so hard. He’s been hard since he sucked Draco into his mouth and now – tied like this and being slowly driven insane by Draco’s fingers – he thinks he’s going to burst with pleasure.

Draco murmurs another spell and the slide of his fingers becomes slicker still. His breathing is heavy against Harry’s neck as he sucks a mark onto Harry’s skin, just above the collar. He works his fingers into Harry as he kisses along the line of his neck, brushing his lips to the shell of Harry’s ear and making him shiver in his place. “That’s it. You’re being so good, staying so still.”

It’s Draco’s words and the way his other hand rests on Harry’s chest, pulling him close against Draco. It’s the maddening rub, twist and push of his fingers invading Harry’s body. It’s the possessive way he tells Harry he’s being _good_ and the reminder that Harry’s wearing a collar with _property of Draco Malfoy_ on the tag. It’s for the fact the itch in Harry’s skin leaves him entirely after a session like this and his limbs are still loose and languid from their earlier play. It overwhelms Harry and he’s coming before he can stop himself – streaking his own torso in his excitement. With a ragged groan, he tries to catch his breath as Draco’s fingers slide in, out, in, out and then finally slip from Harry’s body completely. With deft fingers, Draco undoes the collar and the leash and murmurs a cleaning charm before sending them off with a flick of his wand. 

“Shower before we have to go out?” Draco nips at Harry’s ear, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him close.

“Yeah.” Harry’s words stutter and stumble a little and he wishes he could tell Draco how incredible he feels. “Sounds good.”

They make their way upstairs where Draco washes Harry from head to toe until Harry’s ready to return the favour. They curl up together in Draco’s large bed and Draco doesn’t even complain when Harry lifts Lady up and lets her join them.

*

“I haven’t written my speech or decided what to wear.” Harry wakes with a panic as darkness descends. Despite the fact he spent most of the afternoon with his eyes closed, it was so relaxing just curling up next to Draco and talking in soft whispers. He found he could hardly keep his eyes open and eventually he drifted off with Draco running his fingers through Harry's hair. Draco cracks an eye open, giving Harry a look.

“Of course you haven’t.”

“I’m fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.” Harry’s heart races until Draco tugs him down and gives him a slow, lazy kiss.

“Settle down, Potter. “I didn’t spend all that time earlier _relaxing_ you so you could wind yourself up like a spring again. You’ve given a million boring speeches. Everyone’s going to be drunk. Just speak from the heart. You don’t need a script.”

“I’m rubbish at speeches.”

“If you get nervous, imagine me naked.” Draco smirks and Harry can’t help but laugh.

“I think I’m supposed to imagine the crowd naked.”

Draco glares at Harry. “You’ll do no such thing.” He gives Harry another slow kiss. “If you do a good job, I’ll blow you in the toilets afterwards.”

Harry snorts, even as the thought sends a shiver of pleasure through him. “That seems like a great way to promote Bonding Equality – getting caught with our pants down.”

“I can assure you, we won’t be getting caught.” Draco nibbles at Harry’s earlobe, speaking in a low drawl. “I bet you’re excited about the possibility we might, though. Really gets the adrenaline pumping, doesn’t it?”

Harry pulls a face, because as much as he hates to admit it, Malfoy’s right. “It’s not a terrible idea. What about my outfit?”

“I’ve got enough robes to dress the whole Ministry. Let me dress you.” Draco licks his lips as if he rather likes the idea and Harry snorts with laughter.

“I’m not your doll. I’ll look ridiculous in your posh robes.”

“I don’t know. I think I’ve got the perfect ones.” Draco rolls Harry onto his back and settles over him, giving him a look which sends all kind of dirty thoughts through Harry’s head. “Now, an hour you said? I think we’ll need about half an hour to get ready.” He slides his hand between them, palming at Harry’s sensitive cock which responds with enthusiasm to Draco’s touch. “What on earth can we do with that spare half an hour?”

“I’ve got a few ideas.” Harry runs his fingers through Draco’s hair, images racing through his mind. “Do you like being fucked? I don’t mean now, but…do you?”

“It’s not my preference but I’ve been known to enjoy it on occasion. With the right person.” Draco raises his eyebrows, his eyes darkening. “You want to try?”

Harry imagines Draco stretched out beneath him and his breathing quickens. “One day, maybe. Would you let me?”

Draco nods, capturing Harry’s lips in a heated kiss and murmuring softly against them. “Yes. I think I just might.”

*

The robes Draco selects look as if they were made for Harry. With Draco’s seemingly endless grasp of sartorial spells, the robes are tweaked and adjusted until they hug Harry’s body and flow loose in all the right places. They’re burgundy and rich with subtle gold detailing and when Harry’s finally ready, Draco looks at him as if he’s something to be devoured.

“ _Perfect_.”

“You too.” The heat rises in Harry’s cheeks and he self-consciously smooths his robes. He’s not just returning Draco’s compliment out of courtesy. He’s wearing the midnight blue velvet robes, just as Harry asked. The colour brings out the light cornflower blue in his grey eyes and it makes his hair look even whiter than usual. The silver detailing is elaborate and Harry knows the long, elegant limbs under the robes look just as good with no clothing on as they do cloaked in sinfully tight black trousers and a smart white dress shirt.

They Apparate to the Ministry and as the cameras start flashing, Harry reaches for Draco’s hand. The questions start – hollers from the assembled photographers and journalists – each one demanding the details of Draco and Harry’s union. Pointedly ignoring all of them, Harry poses for a couple of pictures with a tight smile as Draco’s hand on his back calms him somewhat. Eventually they’re able to make their way inside and Harry can breathe again.

“Bloody journalists.”

“They’re obsessed with you, Potter.” Draco sounds as if he couldn’t care less about the journalists and he plucks a couple of glasses of champagne off a passing tray. “Perhaps I should have warned Father. Tomorrow’s _Prophet_ might send him to an early grave.”

“If you have problems with him, you’ll tell me won’t you?”

Draco gives Harry a brittle smile. “Probably not, but I’m sure you’ll get it out of me eventually.”

“I will, you know.” Harry gives Draco a grin and kisses his cheek. “Come on, let’s drink that champagne and do the rounds.”

They spend the next hour mingling with everyone before taking their seats. “McGonagall’s here with that teacher that took over from Hagrid for a while. What’s her name?”

“Grubbly-Plank.” Draco stretches his arm across the back of Harry’s chair. “You didn’t imagine we’d be the only ones, did you?”

“I’m not sure what I thought.” Harry looks around bemusedly, because it does seem like people have taken the ball as an opportunity to come out in public. Michael Corner’s chatting closely with someone Harry vaguely recognises from Cedric Diggory’s group of Hufflepuff friends. McGonagall and Grubbly-Plank are deep in conversation with Madame Hooch, who has a pretty blonde witch on her arm that looks like a member of the Irish Quidditch team. Everywhere he looks there are people he recognises with same-sex dates or people wearing _I’m an ally_ badges. He knows a number of people with partners of the opposite sex are potentially bisexual or sexually fluid themselves and the numbers of familiar faces in the room supporting their cause makes his heart leap.

“Good evening, Draco.” 

“Astoria.” 

Harry looks up, an unexpected flash of jealousy travelling through him. He takes Astoria’s slim, cool hand and shakes it. She really is beautiful.

“Harry Potter, Astoria Greengrass. Astoria, well…Potter probably doesn’t require an introduction, being insufferably famous.”

Astoria laughs. “Not the amount you talked about him, no. Potter this, Scarhead that. I do hope you’ve got it out of your system, Draco. It was beginning to give you wrinkles.”

“It was not.” Draco rubs his forehead nevertheless, his cheeks turning pleasingly pink. “You’re not here alone?”

“Of course not. You’ll never guess who I bumped into in the South of France.” Astoria bestows Harry with a warm smile. “She speaks rather highly of you.”

“Gabrielle Delacour.” A beautiful blonde approaches and extends her hand to Draco, the lilt of her accent light and her smile inviting. “Charmed.”

The memory of battling through the Great Lake rises sharply and Harry can't help but stare because Gabrielle looks so different. “You look a bit different to the last time I saw you.”

“Yes.” Gabrielle bends to give Harry a kiss on the cheek as if they're old friends. When she pulls back, Draco toys with the messy strands of hair at the base of Harry's neck. The jealousy slides away as he remembers Draco telling Harry about Astoria and their union being one of convenience. Was it really only a week ago? It feels as though Draco’s been back in Harry’s life forever, a heady whirlwind of finding one another again and finally landing in the same place.

“I’ll call over to take Lady off your hands next week. Does Tuesday suit?”

“Perfectly.” Draco replies smoothly, but Harry can tell by the way his lips turn down that the idea of being without Lady is unwelcome.

_I didn’t want you to think I’d agreed to look after a dog for two weeks because being with someone – even if it is a ridiculous mutt – is better than being alone with my thoughts.”_

He puts his hand on Draco’s thigh and resolves to come up with a plan for Tuesday. Something that’s going to take Draco’s mind off losing Lady entirely.

*

“They’re still talking about your speech.” Draco gestures for Harry to come in, his face pale and his eyes shadowed as if he hasn’t slept terribly well. He closes the door behind them and makes his way to the living room. The house feels strangely quiet without Lady’s paws clattering over the wooden floor, or her barking at Harry and asking to be petted. “I’m not sure why I’m surprised you managed to pull out all the stops without doing a single minute of preparation.”

“I spoke from the heart.” Harry shrugs. It wasn’t that difficult to pour his emotions into something he fervently believes in when he could look out onto the packed room and find Draco’s cool, reassuring gaze. He grins at Draco. “Not to mention your promise of a blowjob and imagining you naked helped.”

Draco smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He looks bereft and Harry wants to wrap him in a warm hug. He carefully puts down his overnight bag and a large box next to it, clearing his throat. “So, I did a really stupid thing today. A bit impulsive of me, really. Typical Gryffindor.”

Draco’s eyes narrow and he looks a bit nervous. “That doesn’t bode well.”

“No.” Harry gives Draco a sheepish smile and then he opens the box next to his bag, reaching in carefully to extract the little miniature dachshund. He gives a little bark and wriggles in Harry’s arms. Draco stares at it, his eyes widening and his mouth opening a little.

“Potter…what the fuck is that?”

“It’s your dog. Well, ours really. I thought we could take it in turns to look after him. We live close enough, we can go for walks together and I know you’re missing Lady even if you pretend you’re not. They’re cheeky though, dachschunds. I reckon he’s going to be a right handful.” As if to prove the point he wriggles in Harry’s arms to lick his nose enthusiastically. “Alright, little one. Steady on.”

“We own a dog?” Draco seems a bit slow on the uptake, his mouth still open as he gapes at Harry. 

“Err, yes?” Harry’s starting to feel a bit stupid. This isn’t going quite as planned.

Draco rakes a hand through his hair, making it unusually out of place. He looks a bit frazzled. “We’ve been back together for a week and a half. Dogs live for years. _Years_.”

“Oh.” Harry’s blood runs cold and he nods, giving the dog a little pet and shushing him. “No, you’re right. It’s stupid.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“If you're not interested I'll just keep it myself.” Harry shrugs, trying to hide the tumult of emotions sweeping through him. Draco’s right, of course. They’ve barely got used to being together themselves. A dog’s the kind of thing you get with someone you’ve been with for years – someone you’re living with. He and Draco have a few snogs in Soho behind them and a week and a half of excellent shagging and some slightly peculiar play which Harry still can’t get his head around. 

“Does he have a name?” Draco looks more curious now, approaching cautiously and reaching his hand out. The little dog gives his fingers a light nip and then licks them better when Draco lets out a yelp of surprise.

“See? Naughty.” Harry gives the pup a little nuzzle, largely to hide his face from Draco while he collects himself. “Not yet. I thought probably best to avoid anything Shakespearean, though.”

“Probably. Still, it should be something regal. Give him to me, Potter.” Draco reaches for the dog, cuddling it close. “Something like Salazar.”

Harry stars at Draco. “I’m not calling my dog Salazar, are you mental?”

Draco glares at Harry. “I thought you said he was our dog. Which means I should get a say. I suppose we could call him Salazar Godric if we have to.”

A warm feeling creeps over Harry and he begins to smile as he watches Draco glare at the puppy suspiciously, looking exactly the same as he used to with Lady. “Nope, no Founders. He’s not a _Salazar_. Look at him. He’s far too cute.”

“He is not.” Draco looks up, horrified. “He’s a pedigree. At least I hope he is.”

Harry nods, still grinning. “Believe so.”

“Well, then. Perhaps we should call him Shakespeare.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Have you got any better ideas?”

Harry taps his finger to his lips. “I was thinking Puppy.”

“Oh, how creative.” Draco rolls his eyes. He gives Harry a sideways glance, his lips curving into a smirk. “Besides, it could get confusing with two pups around.”

Harry’s cheeks heat and he’s sure his whole face is red. “Arse off.” He ponders and then he clicks his fingers. “Peanut.”

“I’m not calling my dog after a small nut. Idiot. Scorpius?”

“No chance.” Harry huffs and he folds his arms. “Don’t you mean _our_ dog?”

Draco looks up, his lips twitching into a smile. “I suppose I do.”

A thought occurs to Harry and he strokes the little dog’s head, earning a little _yip_ of contentment. “If you’re so fond of Shakespeare, how about Romeo? I bet he’ll break lots of hearts.”

“Romeo died a horrible death at a young age. Besides, it’s a ridiculous name.”

“It’s a ridiculous dog. Aren’t you, trouble?”

“Trouble.” Draco gets another little nip to his fingers and he puts the dog on the floor, letting it run around in circles. “I like Trouble.”

“That’s it, then.” Harry tugs Draco close and gives him a slow kiss. “Sorry about springing it on you. I didn’t think.”

“Well, if this Bonding Equality fight goes our way we’ll just have to agree that I get him in the divorce.”

Harry laughs. “Marriage, Malfoy? We’ve only been together a week and a half. Don’t you think it’s a bit soon for that?”

“Calm down, Potter. It’s not a proposal.”

“Of course not.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Says you.” Harry follows Draco into the kitchen and he sits at the table, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and banana bread making the whole place feel homely. “I didn’t just buy the dog. I’ve got all the necessaries in my overnight bag. Bedding, food, treats. That sort of stuff.”

“No wonder he’s trouble, you’re already spoiling him rotten.” Draco picks Trouble up and puts him in his lap, fussing over him. “We’ll have to get him a collar.”

“Yeah.” The mention of it makes Harry think of his own, his cheeks turning pleasantly warm. 

“I shouldn’t have sprung that on you.” Draco doesn’t look at Harry, still playing with the puppy. “A collar’s a serious thing. We probably should have discussed it. I’m not suggesting you’re my property.”

“I know.” Harry shifts his chair closer to Draco, their legs pressed together. “But it’s okay to be yours when we do that. I like how it feels to be owned.”

Draco looks up, curious. “How _does_ it feel?”

Harry wrinkles his nose, trying to describe the warmth and comfort. He’s still not used to talking about it, even with Draco. “Safe. I can let go completely. All the tension and worry leaves me and it scratches that itch I get sometimes when I feel too big for my skin. My head’s quiet, just for a while.”

Draco brushes Harry’s hair from his forehead. “Your head isn’t always quiet?”

“Nope.” Harry shakes his head and he lets Trouble paw at him. “Sometimes it’s deafening.” He cocks his head to one side, studying Draco. “What’s it like for you?”

Draco shrugs. “Similar, actually. It’s peaceful. It couldn’t be further away from my memories of the Manor or thinking about my father. I sometimes think I don’t deserve it.”

“You do,” Harry says, fiercely. “I think you do.”

“Hmm.” Draco doesn’t agree but he looks pleased nevertheless. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to leave again. Don’t let me.”

Harry swallows, his heart constricting as he watches the way Draco plays with Trouble and whispers something to him Harry can’t quite catch. “You're not a cloud, Malfoy. I won’t let you leave, it's not going to be that easy anymore. Not now we've got a dog. Trouble’s fallen in love with you already. He’s like a bloodhound, really. He’ll be able to sniff you out and bring you home, so there’s probably no point running away.”

“He has, has he?” Draco gives Harry a quirk of a smile.

“He might have done.” Harry rubs Trouble’s head and laughs when he gets a damp nose nudging at his palm. “Just a little bit. He might look tiny but looks can be deceptive. I imagine he’d be pretty fierce if he found himself left alone. He’s fairly determined, for a small puppy.”

“I bet. Loyal, too.”

“To a fault,” Harry agrees.

Draco stands, keeping Trouble in his arms. He’s stopped wriggling around and he looks almost tired, snuffling contentedly in Draco’s arms. “I’m ready for bed and it looks like this one is too.”

“It’s seven thirty in the evening.” Harry stares at Draco, but stands anyway.

Draco gives Harry a loaded look and he runs his tongue over his lips. “I didn’t say I was tired.”

“Oh.” Harry grins at Draco and he stretches, feigning a yawn. “I might join you in that case.”

“I was hoping you might.” Draco makes his way upstairs and Summons Harry’s bag, getting the bedding out and arranging it for Trouble to sleep in. “We should keep him up here until he’s properly house-trained.”

“Good idea.” Harry pets Trouble and he gets a couple of licks to his fingers. When he looks up, Draco’s watching them both with a peculiar expression on his face. “What?”

“It looks like he’s falling for you too.” Draco turns his back to Harry after that, stripping out of his clothes. 

Harry moves behind Draco and kisses his neck, sliding his hands down to Draco’s belt buckle. “Fancy that.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Draco lets out a groan when Harry begins to work his belt open, his knuckles brushing Draco’s cock. “Ridiculous dog.”

“Nothing but trouble,” Harry agrees. 

Draco snorts with laughter. “That was horrible. If you keep making jokes like that, Trouble’s going to refuse to spend time with you.”

“Liar,” Harry says. “That dog’s daft about me. You said so yourself.”

“Yes.” Draco sounds almost surprised. “Though I can’t imagine why.”

Harry turns Draco in his arms and kisses him until they’re both breathless. “Can’t you?”

Draco looks good when he’s well-kissed and rumpled. The paleness has left his cheeks and he looks happy, his eyes shining and his cheeks flushed light pink. He pulls a face before tugging Harry into another searching kiss.

“You’re not all bad, I suppose.”

Harry pushes Draco towards the bed and pulls off the rest of his clothes. He’s happy to take _not all bad_ for now. He’ll get the rest out of Draco when they’re perspiring and he can’t exercise the same fastidious control over his sentences. He’ll get more than _not all bad_ when he’s dozing off to sleep and Draco’s calling him _pup_ , whispering promises to a quiet room and a half-sleeping Harry.

For the moment, he concentrates on Draco. He licks and sucks and touches every part of him. He smooths his hands over Draco’s body and tongues over the light scars of the war. He brushes his lips to the faded Dark Mark on Draco’s arm and moves to his wrist, tasting the _beat, beat_ of his pulse. He slides fingers inside Draco, listening for every breathless instruction and reading every hitch of breath and jerk of Draco’s body back onto Harry’s hand. He takes Draco apart until they’re both panting and breathless, beads of perspiration on their collarbones and their faces hot and flushed. 

When Harry pushes into Draco for the first time it takes his breath away. He can’t help but smooth Draco’s hair back and stare at him until Draco hisses “Move, Potter, you great oaf.”

With a burst of laughter, Harry does just that. The laughter quickly fades as his entire body suffuses with pleasure. He tastes the possibility in Draco’s kisses and sucks a mark on Draco’s neck which he knows will be there tomorrow. When Draco comes over Harry’s fist, the clenching of his body around Harry’s cock is almost too much and it pushes Harry over the edge. With a whisper of Draco’s name, Harry fucks Draco through his orgasm and finally collapses onto the bed to get his breath back.

“Was it okay?” Draco does a very good impression of Harry when he’s smug and in a post-orgasmic haze.

Harry does his best ‘posh twat’ accent in response. “Stop looking for compliments, Malfoy. It was dreadful.”

“That doesn’t sound like me.” Draco pokes Harry in the side.

“Does too.”

A bark from the side of the bed makes Draco groan. “That blasted dog, why do you have to be such an infernal Gryffindor?”

“I knew he was going to be trouble,” Harry says. It earns him a pillow in the face from Draco. He picks up Trouble and settles him on the bed where he curls up next to Draco, one little paw on Draco’s chest.

“You’re far too easy for that dog.” Draco turns to Harry, his eyes lidded.

“Yeah.” Harry takes Draco’s hand in his and moves close to him, giving him a kiss on the cheek before settling back on his own side. “You know what? I really am.”

It’s not long before Draco falls asleep and when he does, it’s with Trouble in his arms and a contented smile on his face.

*

_Never knew I could feel like this, like I've never seen the sky before_  
_I want to vanish inside your kiss, every day I'm loving you more and more_  
_Listen to my heart, can you hear it sings, telling me to give you everything._  
_Seasons may change, winter to spring, but...come what may...I love you..._  
_until my dying day_

*

_~Fin~_

_**Trouble Potter Malfoy** _  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/113336.html).


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